First They Came for the Death Eaters
by Kyonomiko
Summary: The outcome of the Wizarding War was what no one expected. Hermione Granger finds herself in a position to show Draco Malfoy the ropes when it comes to living in the Muggle world. The future is unsure but she is determined to see him take his place in this new world. EWE Dramione. Mostly book compliant. On hiatus but left off at a relatively satisfying romantic position.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Do I need to say it? Hi, I'm not JKR, but I play one on FanFiction**

 **I own nothing but this laptop and a first run of the Potter books on hardback.**

Hermione Granger is standing alone in dark jeans and a red, leopard-print coat, long of tail and flipped of collar, hiding her face from the brisk breeze as best she can inside the jacket. Staring ahead, she is focused on a zoological exhibit she finds unsettling. She can feel wards crackling in the air, keeping the creatures at bay. The elegant animals are stoic and angry and she can feel their glare. Like they think she could do something for them if she were brave enough. Strong enough.

Sighing in the cool wind, she breaks her gaze from the unicorns and hustles on, away from the sight. They are aggressive and menacing, wild horses with higher function, but she finds she feels nothing but sorrow for them.

Seven years ago these same animals wandered the forests and ruled the land. But then everything changed. The day that Voldemort fell marked the end of centuries of tradition and heritage for the wizarding world. Could he possibly have anticipated what his rise to power would bring?

Voldemort. What a fucking fool.

Head down, scowling in frustration and aggravation and contemplation and, probably any other "ation" you can throw at her, Hermione walks on, her saunter increasing in speed until she has reached the level of 'brisk pace'. Harry should be here soon.

"I'd started to think I'd been stood up." Her black haired friend with the tell-tale scar is standing just where he said he would be. But he is not alone.

"Sorry I just nipped into the zoo to check on… well to see if everything seems okay," she says mustering a confidence she doesn't quite feel. She has been concerned for the various magical creatures housed within these confines ever since the muggle world started capturing and putting on display the animals of her youth. Like insects in a jar, writhing beneath a pin, these creatures are ill-suited for domestication and enslavement. She can see the spark in them fading as the years progress and it breaks her heart. But the unicorns are the lucky ones. Muggles love fantasy creatures and beauty. Other animals have been less fortunate. Manticores are already extinct; pieces of them left only as the hide of expensive boots or heads on hunters' walls.

"I can't stand to look at them. Prefer to try and pretend they're not there. At least the UN finally passed the protection laws."

Hermione nods in agreement. "Should keep any more species from disappearing."

"In _some_ countries at least," he mumbles a little sarcastically.

Her silence is understood as agreement. It's hard enough being a magical creature, and indeed a witch or wizard, in some of the more modernized countries. But Harry and Hermione both fear for the likes of dragons in North Korea or the Jengu in parts of Africa.

The figure next to Harry shifts. Indeed Hermione had hardly realized he was there, standing in the shadows as though the softer light can help him vanish completely. Hermione eyes him but he won't meet her gaze.

"Does he have credentials? Pounds?"

"Of course. He's fully registered. And you know the great thing about galleons: At least they fall into the gold standard."

She nods. She's thought the same thing more than once. Most magical families would have been destitute after the Great Integration had galleons not been made physically of gold. They didn't have quite the same "value" as they had in wizarding terms, but they were far from worthless.

Harry hands over a large pouch, tied with string. "Identification, bank information, everything he'll need is in there."

She takes the package and then turns her head to focus on the other man. "Well, best get to it then."

Grey eyes look to her with an indignant and proud air. There is a pause and she readies herself for a fight but finally he just nods, looking away from her gaze and studying nothing at all very, _very_ closely.

Harry shifts from foot to foot, slightly uncomfortable with the arrangement he is currently facilitating. "Right. Well then I'll leave you to it. Next Saturday, Hermione? You still stopping by the flat? Ginny's making some sort of stew she found online."

She smiles. "Sure, sounds great. Should I bring…?" She hooks her thumb at their silent companion.

"Of course. I assumed you wouldn't be ready to leave him alone yet by then anyway. Too much technology to break in your flat."

They both laugh. It's a little forced on both parts but still, a bit of healing blooms from the sound, a balm to their war wounds.

"Alright then. Come along, Malfoy. I'll show you where you'll be staying."

He steps in behind her as she walks away. She hears him when he pauses and mumbles back to her friend. "Thanks, Potter."

"Anytime. See you around."

Quickening his pace, he quickly gains on Hermione's petite frame and has to slow his gait to keep stride. "What? No automobile, Granger?" She stiffens as she can almost taste the sneer she knows is there without looking.

"I do have, yes."

She can tell he's eyeing her from the corner of her vision, waiting for clarification. She huffs at herself for feeling the need to explain further. "It's less than a kilometer to my place. I thought you could handle it," she answers curtly.

"You seem less than thrilled by my presence."

"Does that surprise you?" She glances over with an expression best described as perturbed.

"So why take the assignment? Why not pass me off on Potter or one of the Weasels?"

She stops walking and turns to glare at him, hands on her hips. She feels like she's sixteen again and scolding him in the schoolyard. Feeling the tirade begin, she stops it just as fast as it starts to rise, the tide threatening to tip her away from the "calm blue ocean" she strives to maintain.

"You are assigned to _me_ and I intend to do what I always do: The best I can. If you will pay attention to at least some of what I tell you, you might just make it okay. You're not stupid, Malfoy. Just pick up the basics and you can get far away from me as soon as possible." She misses the slight change of expression at her harsh words.

What she meant to imply is that presumably he would _want_ to get away quickly.

What he hears is that she can't stand the sight of him.

This is how misunderstandings are made.

She turns on her heel and starts walking again. Hermione Granger is generally a kind, happy, fun person these days. At least when she doesn't let unicorns and UN laws drag her down into reflection. She has a good life really. Harry and the Weasleys are like family, her parents are thrilled to be able to share their daughter's extraordinary life with the world, and her job with Integration Services pays very well and is quite rewarding… usually.

The problem is that just seeing his platinum hair and arrogant sneer drags her back to who she used to be, as though time stood still from Hogwarts and they are still adolescents at each other's throats. It seems she is going to go from zero to bitch in 2.3 seconds if she lets him get to her. She has been anticipating he will be cruel to her and so perhaps she is being a bit defensive, creating a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. Taking a deep breath she looks back and tries to offer a calm smile. "Coming?"

He looks at her with an obviously unhappy expression but then picks up his feet and trudges forward at her side.

XXXXX

Hermione slides the key in the lock of her door and opens it in front of her. Stepping aside, she waits for Draco Malfoy to enter before her.

He is slow of movement and takes a large step over the threshold, as if afraid some invisible barrier will stop him if he doesn't clear it by a meter. Once inside, he steps to the middle of her sitting room and stands there. His head sweeps the room but he doesn't look her way.

Hermione closes the door and throws her keys in a little bowl on a table in the entryway. "So this is home. Not what you're used to I'm sure." She sees him flinch and feels a twinge of guilt. "I didn't mean… sorry." Really what can she say? _I meant your wealthy life from childhood, not prison_? It will be taken as either a catty comment about his privileged (now defunct) past or an insensitive one about incarceration. Either way, best dropped.

She lowers her eyes and starts to unbutton her coat, forging ahead through the awkward moment. "You'll have your own room with your own loo. The kitchen is just ahead of you through that doorway. Dining room just on the other side. I don't mind making meals for you since I'm used to cooking for myself anyway. It would just be nice if you helped with the cleanup. I'll start showing you how to make some simple dishes when you're ready. And of course you can always get take-away-"

"I know how to cook, Granger." His voice is nearly a growl.

She stops mid-sentence, her coat just slipping off her shoulders. "Oh well. Right then. Good." Once she has placed her coat on a hanger in the closet, she pauses, watching the material swing lightly as her fingers leave the metal hook. She stares intently to prolong the need to face him.

"I'll take you shopping tomorrow. For clothes. And anything else you need."

Hermione dares a glance back and is met by the image of his back, still turned to her. His fists are clenched at his side. "Are you hungry at all?"

"No." His fists unclench and return to fists a second later. A beat passes and he adds a _nearly_ polite, "I'm fine thank you."

"I'll show you your room then. This way." She starts down the hall assuming he'll follow. Really, what choice does he have?

At the end of the hall, she turns and sees that he is slowly moving toward her, his hands shoved in his pockets. In front of her finally, towering and glowering, he looks down into her face, waiting. She's struck by how blasted _tall_ the man is. No longer is he the boy she slapped in the face; at that time only inches taller than her own form. She thinks she would do well to remember that in all things: This is not the boy of her youth. For better or worse or indifferent, she needs to be both cautious and open if she is to complete this assignment successfully. She reaffirms in her mind that he is no longer her personal bully and this is not school. She digs deep and pulls her professionalism up to the surface, dousing her ire and indignation with patience and kindness.

Gesturing with her right hand, she points into the modest bedroom. "This is where you'll stay. The toilet is just there," she points at a door on the left. "I've bought some basic toiletries and stocked the room: Shampoo, toothbrush, etcetera. There's a wardrobe there. Though I suppose you won't need that much until we go shopping tomorrow. Can I get you something to sleep in? A t-shirt or something?"

"Don't know that I'll sleep much tonight."

"Oh? I'd have thought you would sleep great. Being on a real bed and all…" she trails off, slightly uncomfortable again. Hermione isn't sure if she should be tip-toeing around her former rival or not, but she feels guilty mentioning anything about the last few years he spent no doubt sleeping on a hard slab and eating crusty bread. Though part of her will always remember what a colossal prat he is and allows herself to feel decidedly _less_ bad.

She gestures to a clock on the dresser. "That's an alarm clock there. I can set it if you want to be up early. Or maybe it's best you just sleep as long as you can. I can wake you for breakfast."

"Sure." He steps around her into the room and flops down to sit on the bed. She stares at him a moment as he seems to take in the room. Only when his eyes meet hers does she move to leave.

He doesn't speak, only holds her gaze with his own melancholy stare as she gently closes the door.

 **A/N So I don't know that starting a new multi chapter a week before I leave for vacation is a great plan but I can't help myself. I have a couple more chapters written.**

 **On my last story I tried for a daily update and, after about 5 weeks, really struggled to keep up with it around work and a toddler (and my husband screaming "come play Elder Scrolls with me!)". I am going to try for more of a once or twice a week schedule this time around. I'll definitely throw up chapter 2 before I leave for Mexico since it is ready to go, but I do like to sit on it for a couple of days first. I don't have a beta so I take the editorial process seriously and proof read for a few days. Still, mistakes sneak through and for that I apologize. I still cringe when I look back at the last chapter of Hermione Bergeron in which I refer to Hermione as being 'wonton' (like the soup... 'wanton' was the intended). ::oops:: **

**Of course I am hungry for favorites and reviews. They are inspiring, they push me to write faster, they tell me what I'm doing right or wrong. They are the currency by which us fanfic writers assign value to the worth of our works.**

 **If you enjoy this Dramione, please check out my profile for Hermione Bergeron, finished earlier this month. And Review! Thank you for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy spends no less than five hours sitting and staring at his hands. By the time the little clock Granger had pointed out says it is 1:00am he decides he will try sleep.

He doesn't get very far.

No sooner has his head touched the pillow do the images of his nightmares try to take a hold and set his mind buzzing. Still dressed in muggle jeans and a muggle button-up shirt (bloody muggle _everything_ now…), he curls in on himself and breathes slow, purposeful breaths, trying to calm his rising panic, bile stinging his throat.

The war was hell. No one would argue that, least of all Draco. He was indoctrinated as a child, threatened as an adolescent, and abused as a young man. By the end, he was praying to the Gods that Potter would kill the bastard camped out in his house so his world could return to what he always thought it would be. It seemed so simple when he was young. Until he was about thirteen, he was sure his whole world could be summed up in an easy 5-step program.

Attend Hogwarts and be the best

Find a pureblood witch who is also the best

Have pureblood children who are the best

Run the family business which is the best

Leave a legacy, a portrait, a family at the end of his life which has always been, you guessed it, the best

Easy right?

Then there was the fucking Dark Lord and his ridiculous ambition. What did he expect really? That he would go about murdering muggles and causing unexplained disturbances and generally sending a two-finger salute at the planet and everyone would either cower in a corner or pat him on the back and tell him "good show"?

Ridiculous bloody wizard.

Oh the muggles noticed alright. How in blazes could they not? One muggle slaughter too many and someone started asking questions. And then enough half-bloods and muggleborns were scared to death and thought to look outside of the wizarding world for help. Can't blame them really. There weren't enough Oblivates to stop the eventual tide. Before anyone could be ready, the world at large _knew_. They knew everything.

And first they came for the Death Eaters.

Lying now in Granger's spare bed, he looks at his forearm just in front of his face. The mark is faded but it will never be gone. The muggles tried to remove them from all incarcerated Death Eaters with lasers and scalpels. When that didn't work, they coerced other witches and wizards to try. But nothing could break that which was bonded to this skin. Removing the limb might work. He was half surprised they didn't just chop the damn thing off. Barbarians.

Death Eaters were all sentenced by the courts to various levels of prison. Being young and not having actually committed the most heinous of acts as had his compatriots, Draco was given a lighter sentence. The fact that he is twenty-four and free is probably a miracle but he is having trouble seeing the joy in it just now.

His parents were not looked upon as favorably. After a short time in prison, Draco was notified that both of his parents had taken their own lives, unable to cope with the new world order. He could not give much care to the loss of his Father, overbearing tyrant that he had been, but the loss of his Mother tore him down. It is still the stuff of his nightmares, creeping out from the corners of his mind at odd moments, her smiling face distorting into a pained sadness. He wept for her once then allowed the bitterness to eternally dry future tears.

Financially, that meant all Malfoy holdings went to Draco. Since the family business was a wizarding enterprise, however, and all things wizard are now strictly regulated by the muggle governments, it did not last any longer than its suicidal former president. The manor, once it became visible to the naked eye, was discovered to be badly zoned and was taken. A car park now sits atop what was once their opulent parlor. Their lavish gardens, now the foundation for a pet grooming service with the crass name "Doggy Style". Narcissa would have blanched at the thought.

The only thing left untouched was the vault at Gringott's and thank Salazar for that. Draco is far from penniless, even with the laughable exchange rate decided upon by the muggle/wizarding cooperation council.

What he is however, is untouchable. Pariah. Draco Malfoy, wizarding playboy, wealthy pureblood, powerful Death Eater, has absolutely no one and nowhere to go. Staring straight ahead into the darkened room, he glances at the bedside table and curses internally as he realizes he doesn't even know how to turn on the fucking lamp.

As the wizarding world was integrated into the muggle one, the first to adjust were of course the mudbl-… the muggleborns.

He is a little disgusted at himself that he almost thought the old slur. But he also forgives himself a lot these days. He thinks he is holding it together reasonably well, all things considered.

The muggleborns, as he was thinking, basically just went home. They already had families and friends and knowledge. _They_ at leastknew how to turn on a lamp.

Half-bloods were in a similar position and were in the swing of things within weeks, months at worst, of the Wizarding Accords.

Purebloods have not fared as well at all.

Magic is now strictly to be used with certain types of licenses and in certain settings. "No Smoking" signs have been slowly replaced with "No Magic Use" or "Thank You For Not Casting". Brewing potions is akin to having a liquor license and only given to business proprietors and their employees. All in-home potion making is considered illegal and is prosecuted much like muggle drug trafficking. Any other magic permit is given with specific applications. Just because a wizard is authorized for transfiguration does not mean he is allowed to cast charms. That is an entirely separate enterprise and they will thank you to sign up for an authorization course at the local university. And of course there is an annual fee (per specific type) to keep the permit valid.

All of this has left the oldest families in the most desperate positions. Their wealth has been halved and they have no, as the muggles say, "marketable skills in the work force". Many tried to flee Britain but really, there's nowhere to go. Japan, Canada, Mexico, Italy, Norway, Cambodia… it doesn't matter. Every country has integrated in some way. His home country is probably one of the most livable since they still allow most forms of magic. Less developed countries returned to the days of stake burning and exorcisms. So no, running away did not seem to work.

Then, there were the Death Eaters, which brings us back to our blond, grey-hat villain. Villain might be harsh but he knows he is no hero. In the end, he didn't want Voldemort to win. In the end, he was sickened by the death and destruction the crazy blighter had wanted, even to muggleborns, who he no longer holds in disdain.

Unfortunately, in the end, he didn't exactly fight against it either. The muggles called him a coward. They didn't seem to understand the implication when he told them he was simply a Slytherin.

When the muggles came with, literally, guns blazing to the final battle, Draco was rounded up with the first lot and sentenced to 7 years in a penitentiary. He never fought, never raised his wand at the muggles. Magic can do many wonderful things, but the reality is that wizards and witches are just vastly outnumbered in the world. A spell can deflect a bullet, sure. Another can send that bullet back where it came from. Some spells could throw his attackers off their feet or hurl objects their way or pull their firearms from their hands…

But what could a handful of spells do against thousands of soldiers, armed and angry and frightened by the unknown, all standing on the other side of tanks or flying over their heads in muggle aircraft outfitted with bombs and countless munition rounds. Somehow that day, even the purebloods with very little knowledge of muggle artillery, knew when to stand down. He thinks it might have had something to do with watching their all-powerful (or so they had believed) Dark Lord fall when a well-timed sniper sent one shot through his brain; a look of utter surprise on his face.

For seven long years, Draco was surrounded by a strange mix of muggles and wizards. In their push for full integration, many argued that separating the groups, even in prison, would perpetuate the idea that wizards are not the same as muggles. Draco knew what they were doing. A group of people for centuries had believed themselves superior to those who could not do magic. By saying "we're all humans" in their kind voices and inclusive ways, what they really wanted was to take the wizards down a peg or two. If his parents' deaths and his own near depression are any indication, it worked.

It didn't really matter to Draco who surrounded him in that time. Hiding his face in books and punishing his body to fatigue with basic exercises, he spent seven years a lone wolf, uninterested in conversing with other prisoners, wizard or muggle.

On the day he was to be released, he was informed that all witches and wizards leaving punishment would be assigned to another who was fully established to assist them in their joining of "normal society". When he saw Harry Potter standing just outside the bars that had held him, he grimaced a bit.

"Is this ironic: You of all people taking me in? Or divine punishment?"

"Neither because I'm not."

Draco had flinched at that. "So why are you here? Come to taunt the Death Eater?"

Harry had rolled his eyes. "No actually. I'm your ride."

They talked a little, in Harry's cramped muggle automobile. Draco didn't apologize exactly, and Harry didn't say he forgave him per say, but they seemed to come to an understanding of sorts. He had decided Harry probably was an alright bloke really. Though he won't admit that out loud. Honestly, what had bothered him so much about Potter? Especially after his enthusiasm for the Dark Lord had started to wane. His friendship with Weasley perhaps? That guy was honestly such a tosser. But Harry himself? Quiddich fanatic, easy going, adept wizard.

It's amazing what seven years of reflection can do for your perspective.

When Harry shuts off the engine of the car he had dropped the bomb (no pun intended in light of earlier musings) regarding his… what was she? His case worker?

Hermione Granger had been assigned to, not only mentor him, but allow him to stay with her in her home. Hermione, know-it-all, bossy, muggleborn, Golden-girl, stuck-up, Granger.

So here he lies, in said home, watching the clock tick to a new hour. 2:00am and sleep hasn't come.

He's not sure when it does, but eventually he is groggy and feels like he has hardly slept yet knows he has. The clock says it is past eight and there is an insistent but soft knock at his door.

"Malfoy, are you awake?" He finds his limbs are heavy and he can hardly move, less likely answer her or rise to open the door.

"Are you decent at least? Breakfast is ready." Having tried for nearly five minutes now to rouse her charge, Hermione is starting to be genuinely concerned for him, especially knowing the fates of his parents and so many others like them.

She gently pushes the door open, hiding her eyes with one hand as she does. "Malfoy?" She peeks barely through her fingers and relaxes when she sees he is dressed.

Then immediately purses her lips and puts her hands on her hips that he is still _completely_ dressed.

"Geez, Malfoy, you didn't even take your socks off. Did you sleep like that? I would've been happy to offer you something. I _did_ , in fact, as I recall. It can't be comfortable to sleep what with all those buttons and zippers and things. I hope you'll listen to me today when we choose your clothes. You'll need some things that might even seem strange to you-"

"Granger."

She looks at him, staring at his face but his eyes are still closed. "Yes?"

"Now I remember why I called you a bossy know-it-all."

He can't see her eyes darken what with his still being closed, but hears the edge to her voice. "The same reason you called me a _mudblood_ I'd imagine."

At that, Draco opens his eyes. He's a little shamed and a little embarrassed and a little sorry but he has this streak of pride that disallows him to admit it.

Sitting up and leaning against the headboard, he eyes her. "And why is that?"

"Because you're a prick. Now, do you want breakfast?"

He had expected more, he would admit. A damned monologue about respect and regret and restitution…

Instead she has just quirked an eyebrow and is waiting for an answer.

And actually, he's quite hungry. "Breakfast sounds fine."

Climbing from the bed, his feet hitting the carpeted floor (Carpet: that's a sweet ecstasy just into and of itself), he pads across the room and follows her to the smell of bacon.

Sitting across from Hermione Granger in her inviting home, eating a meal she prepared, feeling her cool wood floors beneath the balls of his feet, he relaxes a little for the first time in forever and tucks in to what feels like his first meal in a lifetime.

"So I was thinking the first thing we pick up is a coat. It's getting quite cool now and the weather is only going to get worse from here. And then we really need to get some casual clothes for everyday wear. Of course you will need suits when you start looking for a job. Have you thought about that yet? Work I mean? Of course you probably haven't sorry, forget that. We'll talk about all of that later. Today, we will get you a wardrobe, tomorrow's problems can wait a day. Let's get some pajamas too. Oh and socks and shoes and accessories. Do you wear accessories? Don't really see you as the type to wear pinky rings or hemp necklaces but you never know. Muggle fashion is all new to you. There's no telling what you might like…"

She drones for the entirety of breakfast. Draco catches maybe half. She asks him questions and then answers them herself. He figures she has this conversation under control and he is superfluous.

Which works out well when he takes the last strip of bacon and she doesn't notice.

He considers as he crunches the salty and, admittedly, well-cooked meat (extra crispy, as it should be): If her incessant chatting doesn't drive him spare, rooming with Granger might not be completely awful.


	3. Chapter 3

"Merlin's balls, Granger, are you supposed to go this fast?!"

Hermione is whipping expertly amongst the other automobiles on the road. Legally of course, turn signal every time, if maybe a _wee_ bit faster than the flow of traffic.

She glances to the seat beside her. Malfoy is gripping what she has heard some of her friend's call the "oh shite bar" with white knuckles. His other hand is holding the side of the seat on which he is perched. His long legs, bent stiffly at the knees, seem to be braced on either side of the floorboard.

"Are you serious? You've flown on a broom with virtually _no_ protection at nearly supersonic speeds and you're afraid of a _car_?"

"Potter didn't drive this fast," he bites out accusingly.

She rolls her eyes and smirks a little. "Harry's only been driving a couple of years. Drives like a bit of an old lady to be honest."

"And fuck your broom analogy by the way. At least on a broom I'm in total control-"

"I'm in control, Malfoy," she shoots back.

" _You_ are… 'you' being the operative word. Or so you say. _I'm_ certainly not. And on a broom there aren't a _hundred other_ fucking brooms barreling toward me. MIND THAT TREE!"

"The one nowhere near the road? Yes I've got it covered," she responds dryly. "I've been driving since I was eighteen. Younger even if you count the time I was learning with my Dad."

She sees him try to relax into the seat but tense up when she changes lanes again and signals to turn, not seeming to trust she won't just careen off the road entirely.

She can't help but snark, "now you know how I felt at that first flying lesson."

Remembering her assignment she reaches over and awkwardly pats his shoulder. It doesn't seem to do anything for his stress level and she feels him impossibly tense even more under her touch.

XXXXX

Shopping with Draco Malfoy is bit of a fiasco.

In the end they do well and find him most of what he needs. And truthfully the boy is incredibly easy to fit. Lean and tall, he sports a male model physique. She finds he tends toward dark colors. No surprise there. Seeing him in a pair of tight muggle jeans and a fitted button-down shirt was nearly enough to make her short of breath.

But that would be unprofessional of course so she had cleared her head and pretended not to notice the two sales girls ogling him, one of them mumbling "check out Captain Tight-Pants" to the other preceding soft giggles from both.

The true challenge of the day though, lay with keeping him on target. Oh, he was fine in the changing rooms. Even while browsing clothes he mostly managed alright. He has an eye for detail and fine materials. She did not dissuade him when he chose expensive clothing. Truthfully he can afford it and has suffered with absolutely no luxuries for a long time.

But the rest of the day was a barrage of what would be childlike questions, if not peppered with adult language. "What the bloody hell is that?" (escalator), "Where can I get one of those?" (fish and chips plate), "Why the fuck does a clock need to be that big?" (I'll let you guess that one).

He veers off from their path without warning more than once. Often Hermione is ten paces ahead before she even notices and ends up jogging after him in pursuit like he is some errant toddler.

For lunch, she finds him what has become his holy grail of the day: Fish and chips. He devours the plate.

"Are there other things like this? Muggle food I mean."

Hermione snorts. "I almost feel sorry for you, Malfoy. The wizarding world gave us many wonderful things but when it comes to food? Bertie Bott can't hold a candle to the flavours of the muggle world."

He looks thoughtful a moment, staring across the crowd of the pub. "It's… a bit grand, if I'm honest. This world of theirs I mean. Salazar, but it's _big_."

" _Ours_ , Malfoy. This world of _ours_. Yours _and_ mine. And all of theirs. I don't pretend to understand your journey so far but this is what Integration is about. This is what I've dedicated my career to. Muggles and Wizards… we're all just humans, Draco. People. With families and children and fears and, well… just _life_."

"It doesn't feel like ours. Like _mine_. It feels like it ate mine whole." His tone is soft and a touch bitter.

She pauses. This is a relatively in depth discussion for day one. She starts to speak, to try and move the conversation closer to some irrelevant fluff, then he continues.

"Is this what you do then?" He asks with a stronger voice.

"I'm sorry?"

"This… adopt-a-Death Eater gig. Is this what you do for the muggle government?"

Hermione shakes her head though he's not looking. "I've never done this per se."

Draco starts a little, then turns to her, that trademark smirk in place, "I'm your first then, Granger?"

Rolling her eyes, she allows a smile at his innuendo, happy to see he is attempting for a lighter mood. "My position is to work with wizarding families to help them socialize but also to work for wizarding rights. It took a few years after the war before we were even allowed to do magic openly. This might sound cruel but you may have been better off where you were."

He narrows his eyes. "Yes, that sounds bloody fucking cruel."

Reaching across the table, she places her hand over his, pleading sincerity with her brown eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't mean it like you think." He swipes his hand away but she continues, unfazed. "Many purebloods… some just couldn't make it. When the dust settled, the first few months were hellish for those who had no idea how to assimilate. No job, unable to travel since apparating and portkeys were temporarily illegal, no muggle money… I know you probably feel cheated that your Galleons are only worth the gold of which they're made, but you had such wealth you can still live well even without working. At least for quite a long while."

She sits back but keeps her eye contact on his quickly changing face. His frustration is melting into a sort of horrific understanding. "A lot of good wizards died. Some by their own hand. Some basically starved. Some couldn't take being cut off from their magic and seemed to fall ill, withering away like they had a disease. The wizarding population was decimated within the first year in Britain alone. Death tolls around the world varied country to country but very few lost less than ten percent."

She holds her head up and takes a breath, seeming to shake off the melancholy that follows her down the path when she discusses that awful time.

"So I wanted to help do something about it. Some witches and wizards, I'm ashamed to admit much of The Order, were nearly content to stand by. There was a sentiment that the purebloods were getting what they deserved. Instant karma. But Kingsley Shacklebolt from The Order, and some of us with the loudest voices, helped start this organization. There's no ministry anymore but the Integration created a need for an entire department within the muggle government to handle wizarding issues. We have a division for potion ingredient regulation and distribution, a conservation department for magical flora, a magical creatures specialist group, and then what I do. There are twenty of us in my department."

He snorts, "It's like SPEW all over again. Except this time you're knitting hats for Death Eaters."

She quirks her mouth, pursing her lips in agitation but not able to hide the amusement completely. And just a tiny touch of pride that he remembered her House Elf campaign from their childhood.

"But this," he gestures between them, "this is not something you usually do?"

She smiles a little sadly. "Not many Death Eaters came out the other side. Those who did are mostly our contemporaries. Generally, they had distant family or friends to look after them. When Harry was asked to assign you… well he was coming up short."

"Because I have no family right?" he asks, agitated. "Friends, though. I have _friends_ , Granger. A lot more than you probably. I'm still a Malfoy!" He's becoming heated and muggles are starting to glance their way.

Hermione doesn't think he has much to be so haughty about anymore but is trying to remember he knows no other way to cope. "I'm sure you do. But most of them are still in prison or in their own Integration homes. Goyle? Still in prison. Nott? Staying with the Parkinsons. Zabini vanished after the war. Moved to Italy to avoid the end of it and stayed gone. We could try to find him if you wish. But until then, I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

He scowls and she tries to lighten the foul mood. "At least I make good bacon."

He seems to think a moment before conceding the point with a lift of his brow and shoulder shrug that seems to say "true enough". He asks in what feels like a last ditch effort, "What about the Parkinsons, then? I'm sure they'd have taken me. I can pay my own way. It's not like I'd be a burden."

She shifts in her seat uncomfortably. "They already have Nott. There's a law about Death Eaters…err… congregating in the same home. At least until after their one year evaluation."

"That's ridiculous," he scowls, but continues with less venom. "Anyway, they should have taken me instead then," he grumbles and crosses his arms.

She smiles a little at his pout. "I think Pansy had something to do with that actually. Seems she and Theo have been speaking often via letter while he was away. I believe I heard the word 'betrothal' tossed around."

He snorts. "Poor tosser."

"Which one?"

"Theo obviously. Pansy is such an annoying chit."

"Didn't stop you from hanging all over her at Hogwarts as I recall," she says with arched brow.

"Jealous, Granger?" She laughs a little in response and he just _almost_ smiles. "Besides, we were what? Fourteen? You can hardly hold me responsible for that."

"No, you're right. I don't hold you responsible for that. Other things perhaps. But not adolescent romantic choices."

"The war though. I get full blame for that," he spits out.

Hermione shakes her head a little. "Not entirely. A lot… came to light the last few years. We know how Voldemort kept loyalty. And it wasn't throwing parties and handing out bonus cheques."

"No but he was vastly generous with Unforgivables."

She nods. "So were some of his most loyal." Her eyes betray her and flicker to her covered arm.

His own gaze rakes her arm and he looks away from her. "I couldn't do anything you know. I didn't… they wouldn't have listened to me and I couldn't duel her…."

She thinks this is the closest thing she might get to an apology and gives him an encouraging smile. "I know. That's not one of the things I hold you responsible for either. Bellatrix gets full credit for my torture and the scars it left behind."

He hesitates and she knows what he will ask but lets him ask it in his own time.

Finally, "then what am I responsible for?"

She thinks a moment, a serious expression on her face, and starts to list. "For calling me a mudblood when I was just a little girl. For being the kind of entitled brat that makes fun of people for being poor. For trying to kill Buckbeak."

She's quiet for a moment and so is he then she continues her point. "But also for not killing Dumbledore even though you thought you had no choice. For not telling Bellatrix who Harry was when I'm sure you had to know. For standing down at the final battle. You're responsible for a lot of decisions but they weren't always the wrong one."

He nods just barely in response, staring hard down at his empty plate.

Hermione stands and motions for him to rise. "Come on then. We've wasted enough time and I've saved the fun errand for last."

Rising from his seat he quirks a brow. "Oh yes? And what muggle trapping will I indulge in next then?"

She grins. "A mobile."

When he finally grips the little device in his hand, all buttons and lights and chirping sounds, he looks at her with something akin to awe. When she shows him how he can take a photograph and send it immediately to someone else, he's a little disappointed the image doesn't move. Then she shows him he can also send a video and all complaint is out the proverbial window. "This is _way_ better than an owl."

She grins. "Welcome to the muggle world. Let's head home. You can prove you really know how to cook." She winks and almost without thinking takes his hand, pulling him to follow her home.

XXXXX

Dinner is actually a bit of a treat for Hermione. Draco wasn't kidding. He really _can_ cook. _Well_ , in fact.

"I'm blown away, Malfoy. Really. When you said you could cook I thought you just meant… pot noodle or something. Like 'bachelor-style-just-enough-to-not-starve' type cooking."

Impossibly, he grins. She smiles back.

"Cooking is a lot like potions really. My Mother…" he trails off and Hermione waits patiently. If he prefers to drop it, she will, but she gives the opportunity for him to make that choice.

Taking a deep breath he finishes but a bit curtly. "My Mother liked to cook sometimes. Found it relaxing."

Draco takes a bite of his sautéed vegetables and Hermione takes that as a cue to move on. "Well you've done an amazing job. Truthfully, outside of bacon, I'm a dreadful cook. I'll make you a deal: You cook and I'll do the shopping for ingredients and the clean up after." She grins though he is still looking down in thought, hoping to bring him back out of his funk.

"Sure."

Hermione frowns at his pensive expression, having expected a more fiery refusal, or perhaps a jab at her lack of ability in something. Instead he is studying his potatoes with feigned interest, and she allows him the quiet. As he breaks through all of his repressed issues of the last decade she expects many of these up and down moments. She imagines it was hard to properly mourn the loss of his only family from inside prison walls.

After a few minutes, he seems to be finished, just pushing the last bits of food around his plate, and Hermione stands, gesturing to his meal. "Finished? I can take that…"

He nods and pushes it away before rising and walking out of the room. Sighing, she takes their plates and sets to work cleaning the dishes and utensils from their meal, employing a self-made regiment of muggle and wizarding methods.

When she is finished, she wipes her hands on a dish towel and follows the path Draco had taken to her sitting room. This is only his second night of freedom and she hopes for something better than falling asleep in his clothes with barely a word spoken to her.

Entering the room, she finds him staring at her telly, watching the moving pictures with interest.

"Television. You've heard of it?" She waits for a response but he is silent a moment.

Finally, he seems to snap out of it and glances just briefly at her before looking back at the screen. "Yes… a long time ago. It's like a play right? But made into something you can copy… like a picture or parchment."

"That's… not bad. It's more than that though. Sometimes like a play. That's what we call films or programmes. But there are other things. Like news reports. Some things you see are real events, either happening right now or that already occurred. Some are fiction. I'll help you distinguish which is which. Some things are just for fun but you can also gain a lot of knowledge by watching certain things."

"And this?" He asks with a grimace and Hermione studies the screen. There is a crowd of men pushing against a line of soldiers in fatigues trying to keep the rabble at bay. Hermione grabs the remote control off the arm of the sofa and hits the volume up a few times.

"…crowds in the streets, protesting the new Wizards' rights agreement enforced by the UN. Some high-ranking opponents of the bill are pressuring the Austrian government to push back against instituting the laws, on the grounds that the wizarding populace infringes upon the safety and freedom of Austrian citizens. Similar protests have been reported in other countries including the United States, Spain, and Afghanistan."

Hermione changes the channel and lands on an old episode of Black Adder and tosses the remote to the cushion. "So that was an example of something very real," she says quietly. When he turns to her, he looks a little horrified.

" _This_ is the world I live in now? The muggles are fighting over whether or not to let us live with them?"

She straightens her posture and meets his gaze. "Yes. Much like Voldemort was fighting to make sure people like me would die." He cringes and his expression darkens a bit but she goes on. She has no intention of placating him or hiding the realities of his new world, but neither is she trying to punish him for their past. "But there are a lot of muggles, as you may have caught from that, who try very hard to protect us. To fight with people like my department in our favour. And those muggles are winning. It's better now than it was five years ago. Much, much better." She offers a crooked smile and gestures that he sit.

Hesitantly, Draco lowers himself onto the sofa and sits perched at the edge, obviously uncomfortably. She huffs at him and flops down with little ceremony. "Relax, Malfoy. We'll take the telly slow with some comedy tonight. Let me introduce you to Edmund Blackadder."

It takes until the title character smarms out "So, some sort of hat is probably in order" and Draco laughs in spite of himself. Hermione has been watching him intently and now relaxes, relieved he seems to at least have a sense of humour after all.

 **A/N Greetings from Mexico! Anyone planning a trip, I highly recommend Le Blanc Spa and Resort. So unfortunately, I've not been writing much here. Reading other fics (for instance Second Time Around by Neko-Tenchi which I am devouring) is easy by the pool. The laptop though, not so convenient out of the room. I did however have chapter 3 done so I'm posting anyway. I hate catching up with what is written ahead but I also want to build interest in this my new story so weighing the options, my vote is to post! Please _please_ review so I know you're out there! Who knows, I might even get motivated enough to take the pc poolside :P**


	4. Chapter 4

The first few days were easy. Relatively speaking. Hermione finds Draco to be quiet much of the time. Pensive. He is taking in the new world with a bit of wonder. Unfortunately it is all very surface level thus far. It's not a terribly difficult thing to live in a new place for a short time. Like being on a vacation of sorts. Reality, however, starts to sink in. By the end of the week, he is stir crazy.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do all day while you're at work?"

Hermione sighs in response. Quiet though he was the first couple of days, pensive though he may have been, he has been reaching the territory of being _fucking moody_ since last night. Uncharitably she almost thinks to say 'what did you do all day in prison?' Instead, she plasters a professional smile on her face.

"What did you do all week when I was gone? Watch some television. Read a book. Cook something. Look, Malfoy, next week we'll start getting you out and about more. We'll take you over to the university and look at their magic-use class schedule. It's about time you held a wand again. I imagine that is a large part of this… irritability you feel."

"Irritable? Is that your word for it? I'm going bleeding mad sitting here all day. And fuck yes I need my wand back. Can you imagine not doing magic for _seven years_?"

"Yes: 'Irritable'. That seems an apt description. Hang in a few more days alright? And if you're so terribly bored you could help out around the house a bit. Vacuum or something."

"Oh no. I'm not touching that black hole machine."

"Oh my God, Malfoy, it's not a black-," she stops and makes a wiping motion with her hand as if to wave away her annoyance. "Forget it. Just read or something. I'll come home early today alright? I'll bring some take-away and we can start that Lord of the Rings marathon we talked about. No work tomorrow. We can stay up all night and watch the whole thing…if you can handle it," she challenges with a smile.

Arms crossed, he flops onto the sofa and huffs. "Fine. Tikka Masala. And be here by five or we'll never make it through all three."

Hermione smiles to herself as she collects her bag and leaves.

XXXXX

Draco does not always admit being impressed by muggle things (outside of food and his mobile) but he must say that films just made the short list. When Hermione had arrived, true to her word, with all three epic movies, based on some of the few muggle books Draco had ever read ("It had wizards so my parents thought it was okay," he had told her), he watched with rapt attention and child-like wonder. Knowing muggles don't actually have magic and goblins and such made it all that much more interesting.

"They call it 'movie magic' for a reason. Muggles may not have spells but they are pretty innovative. It's amazing what the human brain can accomplish when you don't have a wand to fall back on."

"What are you saying? Wizards are lazy?" He asks with a scowl but his tone is just almost teasing.

"I'm simply saying that… 'necessity is the mother of invention' I guess. Now that humanity is joined, muggles and magic all in one, I think it will be fascinating to see what happens next." She allows a little of her true passion to take over her voice. Hermione Granger is honestly excited about the future. Afraid of course. Apprehensive. Things could go south really fast if Integration is less than successful. But really, magic and potions and come-to-life mythology meets electricity and the internet? The possibilities are staggering.

As the last credits roll, Draco starts to stand from the sofa to retire for the evening when Hermione stops him. "I think I mentioned it in passing, but we have plans tomorrow night."

He looks back at her in question, one eyebrow asking for more information.

"Harry and Ginny invited us to their home. I think it would do you good to get out anyway. We've hardly done anything outside of my flat since your first day."

"My first social foray and it has to be with a Weasel." He groans but there is no real bite in his tone so Hermione lets it slide.

She snarks back, equally toothless, "It could have been worse. We could be going to Ron's place."

Draco offers a firm "At that, Good night" to his keeper, refusing to be grateful for small favors (though in truth the thought of having a meal with the Weasel King was enough to make him shudder so he is indeed quite grateful).

Chancing one last glance, he takes her in while she is turned away, focused on the screen. Hermione tends to watch her television with her legs curled beneath her, one shoulder resting against the arm of her sofa. Clad in only pajama pants and a tank top, it is not lost on him how intimate their evenings have become. Quite quickly at that. Her toes had nearly brushed his thigh when he shifted. Looking at her now, curly mane of shiny hair and creamy skin, it occurs to Draco, not for the first time since he moved in, that he had not so much as seen a real woman in years. It is palpable, the affect it is starting to have on him. Swotty, bossy Granger has become his nightly wank material.

 _Obviously because she's the only female in the vicinity_ , he thinks.

She thinks the lack of wand is making him irritable? Please. It's nothing compared to the physical frustration, her cuddled up not a meter away from him with that

One.

Fucking.

Strap.

Barely hanging on her shoulder. _Taunting_ him to pull it down.

That tiny strip of skin bared when her top rides up over the curve of her hip. _Begging_ him to slide it up.

He realizes he is staring just as she turns and notices him still there.

"Do you need anything before bed?"

"I- no. Just thinking. Night, Granger."

She smiles; that cute, almost one-sided grin she has where she keeps her lips pressed together and her right cheek dimples deep. "See you in the morning."

Draco stifles a groan and throws himself back into the sanctuary of his bedroom, running a hand through his hair, exasperated. He's not sure if he's more frustrated in need of a warm body in his bed, or at himself for which body he is currently lusting after in his waking hours. Hermione fucking Granger of all the witches in the world.

Sure, she makes decent bacon.

Sure, she has been incredibly kind. More than he deserves probably, entitled prat that he used to be.

Sure, she has the most perfect, unblemished, peaches 'n' cream complexion he has ever seen.

Sure, she walks around in the flat in those little tanks that allow a tantalizing peek at her rounded cleavage and showing off her neck and shoulders, her hair cascading down her back, ending just above her adorable little apple shaped bum, one errant curl nearly always falling into her rich, chocolate eyes, making her huff at it with a breath expelled between her parted, plump, pink lips…

Draco nearly slams the bathroom door on his way to alleviate his currently worked-up state.

XXXXXX

Saturday morning Hermione wakes earlier than she anticipated with a groan. Having stayed up quite late watching that movie marathon with Draco, she expected to sleep a little later than this. She's not sure why her body is pulling back to consciousness then she hears what must be the source repeating itself.

"Come on, Granger. I cook; you clean. That's the deal. So come eat so you can clean. Besides, I don't make my world-famous omelets to see them go cold."

She groans again, more loudly so he can hear then answers back. "Are you kidding me? What the hell time is it even?"

Suddenly the door is flung open and Hermione yelps, dragging her covers up over her shoulders and staring at him with wide eyes. Draco is standing in the doorway with his arms folded.

He watches her panicked expression and rolls his eyes. "Oh for Merlin's sake… you lounge around every night in your pajamas. I don't think you need to be so shy. I've seen your stupid plaid pants."

Her mouth parts to respond but she doesn't get a word out when he marches forward and makes as if to rip the blanket away from her.

"Come on. Up you go."

She clings to the quilt with surprising strength and their struggle goes from his initial light-hearted tug to more of a serious battle for dominance.

"You're being ridiculous! Get. _Up_. _Salazar_ , but you're a stubborn woman."

She finally manages, after some false starts of "stop" and "Draco please" to rush out, "I don't sleep in pajamas, alright?! Leave off!"

Draco promptly drops the corner of the fabric and backs away a step, a smirk forming on his face. Working out the situation he asks slowly but succinctly, "Golden Girl Granger sleeps in the _buff_?"

She looks away, pink staining her cheeks. "Not entirely."

"Just knickers then, is it?" He quirks an eyebrow, smirk evolving into a nearly Cheshire grin. She only glares back.

He decides staying any longer would probably earn him a good hex, but that he certainly has new material for his private time tonight. Shaking his head he turns to leave the room. "Breakfast when you're decent," he calls over his shoulder, almost chuckling as he goes.

When the door shuts behind him, Hermione flops back onto her pillow with a huff, the hungry look on his face as he eyed her bare shoulders not lost on her in the slightest.

XXXXX

"No one else. Just us, Harry, and Ginny." She knocks on the door with three confident raps.

"Thank Merlin for that." After breakfast, Draco had started hounding Hermione on what the evening would entail. He honestly isn't as nervous about it as he is letting on. It's just fun to see her in a huff, defending the honour of her friends.

The door opens to reveal Ginny Potter smiling at her friend. "Hey, Hermione!"

The ladies embrace and then Ginny moves aside. Hermione looks over at Draco expectantly and he takes the cue, walking inside and standing awkwardly in the foyer.

"Well, Malfoy, how is casa de la Granger treating you?"

"Well enough," is his stiff reply.

"Would you both like a drink?" Harry approaches from the hallway wearing what looks like an apron crossed with a bullet proof vest.

Hermione laughs as she hugs him briefly. "What the hell are you wearing?"

He grins a proud yet sheepish grin. "It's my tactical chef's apron. George got it for me for Christmas from some muggle grilling magazine."

"I think it's pretty boss personally," Ginny giggles.

"So anyway, drinks?" Harry looks at Draco who is sizing him up with a combination of interest and mockery.

"Fire whiskey?" It's all he knows to ask for.

Hermione walks over to her friend's bar and starts pulling out ingredients. "Oh no, no. That's boring. Remember how much you love Fish and Chips? And Jelly Babies? Muggle alcohol is equally superior. Let me mix you a Southside." She grins and muddles mint into a shaker. Draco sees a bottle labeled Belvedere, amongst other things, and watches her squeeze the juice from a lemon and a lime like a pro.

When she's finished, she pours equal servings into four high ball glasses with a sprig of mint and hands them around.

"See this is why we invite you over. You make the best drinks." Ginny offers her friend a quick high five then takes a deep pull from her glass.

Hermione laughs in response. "This is why I come. You have the best stocked bar in London."

Draco doesn't admit how damn tasty the drink is but he leaves nary a drop at the bottom.

Watching her through dinner, Draco is struck by how relaxed and open she can be. It's like Hermione Granger is this entirely other person he's not really seen. A witch he would have told you he's known most of his life and yet she's a stranger in many ways. Not to discount their week together. She has been charming, giving, and kind. Not to mention increasingly alluring. He would swear her tank tops are getting tighter by the day.

Maybe that last bit is just his imagination.

And just for the record, the angel on Draco's shoulder would whisper in his ear: If it was only her proximity as a female he was so drawn to, he would be equally fawning over the fiery red head seated next to Potter. But no, his eyes are glued to Hermione's mouth as she speaks, to her hair as it falls over her milky shoulder, her delicate hands moving wildly to illustrate her passionate thoughts…

"So when do you get your wand permit, Draco?"

He snaps back to attention, realizing he has missed the better part of ten minutes of conversation. He tries to smoothly cover his faux pas. "That's up to Granger. I'm a humble charge, following her lead and cooking her meals." He offers a grin, a pretty genuine one if he does say so himself.

Ginny feigns shock and looks to Hermione. "He's cooking for you? Geez where can I get one?" She says a little sarcastically but with a large smile.

"What I don't get," Harry pipes up, "is how you make such amazing drinks and such wretched food."

Harry is rewarded with a sour look from his friend and she grits out, "we all have our gifts."

Draco looks from one Potter to the other. "Is it that bad? She roped me in to cooking on day one."

"They're exaggerating. You've had my breakfast. It was good right?" Hermione is looking at him expectantly.

He can't help but tease back in response. "Come to think of it I only had bacon and toast. I don't know if that's 'breakfast' per say…"

Ginny pretends to cough, covering her accusation, "cough-ChristmasTurkey-cough."

"That was _one_ time! Who thought to put a plastic bag _inside_ a bird anyway? It's unnatural." Hermione huffs and takes a spoonful of the stew Ginny had made.

"This isn't terrible, by the way," Draco offers. He's finding that being relaxed and mildly pleasant is oddly easy around this particular Weasel.

"Heh, thanks. High praise from a Slytherin I suppose. I found the recipe online."

Draco cocks his head "The… 'internet' right? Granger showed me a little."

Harry lifts his glass in a bit of a salute. "When you figure it out you can teach me. I'm still a bit rattled by it."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione grins and teases, "You're such an old man sometimes, Harry."

"That's what she said about your driving too," Draco offers innocently. He looks over to find Granger glaring at him and gives her a syrupy sweet smile. "Was I not supposed to tell him that?"

Ginny sits back from the table and announces as if a decision has been made, "Alright, I like him better now. Next quiddich game, you're going with us, Malfoy."

Too stunned to respond, Draco glances around the table then fells his gaze on Potter. "I get the idea you don't make many decisions."

"Pfft. Mate, you have no idea."

The table laughs, Ginny most of all.

"So there's still quiddich?"

"Oh Merlin yes! Muggles just love it," Ginny squeals out.

"But the players have to wear helmets in league play," Hermione offers. "Muggles at least have sense enough to protect their brains when zipping around hundreds of feet up." She says it primly, sitting up straight and taking a delicate bite of her food.

The other three roll their eyes at her. Draco is a little jarred to be bonding with his old rival over the motherly tone of Hermione Granger.

After dinner, the friends share a few more drinks before retiring for the night. Harry, who has had the least of anyone, offers to drive Hermione and Draco home in her car. He kisses his wife on the cheek and says he will Apparate right back once he sees them home safely. Draco is bemused how utterly submissive the man seems to the little redhead. She must either be scary when she's angry or an amazing lay. Probably both. The two seem to go hand in hand.

"Thanks for the ride, Harry!" Hermione calls back to her friend a little too loudly, waving in a wide arc.

Following her into the flat, Draco calls after her, "you may have had a bit too much to drink, Granger." She misses the fact that he ironically stumbles over the threshold.

She laughs a little. "I'm _fine_ , Draco. Let's watch something, yeah?" He notices her voice has a more cockney flavor after a few vodka cocktails; her proper, precise diction failing her a little as she relaxes.

He smiles indulgently. Warning bells alight in the back of his head but he's not going to pay _those_ any heed. Not with this happy-go-lucky witch patting the sofa next to her, giving him that inviting grin.

When he takes his seat on his end of the sofa she curls up closer than usual, with her body turned the opposite direction. Her feet face the arm instead of the center so her body is perched rather close to his own.

He swears he can smell her hair. He knows what it smells like: Ginger and Citrus. She bought him the same shampoo for the loo in his room. Plus her end of the couch always smells like it. He knows because he likes to sit on that side while she is at her office. He's even turned his nose to the cushion and breathed deep, searching for her scent.

She's not wearing her usual skimpy sleepwear but it doesn't matter. Her proximity, even in jeans and a sensible sweater, has him vibrating.

"Fancy some Iron Chef?"

Draco turns to chuckle at her, finding humour in her choice to watch people doing something she is miserably bad at. When he finds his nose nearly touching her silky hair, the laughter dies in his throat. He looks down at her with lidded eyes and inhales, a bit more shallow and shaky than he'd have liked.

Her head tilts up to look at him and they are deliciously close. His gaze darts between her eyes. "Draco?"

One more shuddering breath and he forces himself to turn away and smile casually. "Sure. Iron Chef. Sounds great."

They watch for about half of one competition when Draco finally speaks again. "Granger?"

"Hmm?" She looks up again. Their faces aren't quite so close together this time, but she is looking demurely through her lashes and he nearly loses his train of thought.

"Thank you. I've not said it. You've been really…hospitable. You didn't have to be. So… thank you."

She smiles and shoulders checks him lightly. "Of course. It's my job, silly. You're welcome."

 _Her job._

Nodding, Draco stiffens and sits quietly a few moments before excusing himself for the night. The intimacy lost. Or maybe he only imagined it there.

 **A/N ok so back from Mexico but really fell behind on writing while I was away (as expected). I have 2 more chapters written but one of them is a conflict scene a little farther into the story. I still hope to keep a 1-2 chapters each week schedule though. It's too early in the story to hit hard on the romance, but I think a little lust is totally appropriate at this juncture, based on proximity if nothing else. But you can also see by Draco's thoughts at least that he is finding a respect for Hermione that takes his attraction above being purely physical.**

 **As always, here is a shameless plea for reviews! I gobble them like candy! And a thank you to the faves and follows I've collected so far. Reviews I try to respond to directly but the faves and follows are also super appreciated and I don't want it to go unsaid**


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione spends Sunday morning being a little reflective. She can admit, in hindsight, that she was a little drunk last night. Not absolutely totally hammered mind you, but certainly not in full control of her faculties.

And she had flirted with Draco Malfoy.

Oh, he probably didn't pick up on it, of course. For just a moment, she thought he seemed like he was leaning into her, the heat from his body making it hard to breath. But then he'd pulled back and shut down emotionally and she imagines the moment must not have been what her vodka-addled mind thought it to be.

But she can't deny her part in it. She had certainly sat more close to him than is proper. She had absolutely arched her back _just so_ to accentuate the swell of her chest. And she had most assuredly giggled and fawned at everything he said.

Unfortunately he hadn't said much. When they had sat together she was sure the sexual tension in the room would drown her. Slowly though, it was replaced with a slightly awkward atmosphere and then he had retired to his bedroom with a polite, if a little cold, good night.

And what the fuck is she thinking anyway?

This is Malfoy for God's sake. Not to mention her charge which makes this entirely unprofessional to even be thinking of.

It's not as if she's lonely. She had a few dates just last month with that muggle bloke who had divine silk sheets and a penchant for fine dining. He had been a fun distraction. But something about Malfoy's confident air, sleek build, and piercing eyes is enough to make her come undone. It's not lost on her that he is also the definition of a 'bad boy', and one with which she has a history no less. No, allowing anything pursued between them would be her taking advantage of the situation. He is in her care with no network of family or friends. She is all he has in this world so of course he might seem to respond to her presence. But obviously it would just be misguided comfort.

From today on, she vows, Hermione needs to treat this situation with respect and dignity… not throw herself at the man like some common tart.

It sounds all well and good until she bounds into the kitchen and finds him stirring something on the stove in nothing but pajama pants sitting low on his defined hips, his hair tousled in a yummy, freshly-shagged kind of way.

Somehow, by an absolute miracle from heaven, she stifles an approving hum and sits and the breakfast table behind him. "Good morning, Draco."

She's starting to prefer the intimacy of his first name. Professional doesn't have to mean _distant_ after all. Or so she justifies.

"Morning."

"Sleep well? I absolutely died the second my head hit the pillow. You're hard to keep up with." She smiles though he's not looking at her, hoping to create a warm environment to counter his, apparently, solemn mood.

"I slept fine."

Hermione frowns and stands to cross the kitchen, approaching her coffee maker. "Thanks for making coffee. Can I pour you a cup?"

He grunts something that might be "sure" and she goes ahead making the cup just like she has learned he likes: Lots of milk, very little sugar.

When she sets it beside him, she sidles up closer than necessary and peers around his arm to look at the stove top. Her internal promise to keep her distance is growing increasingly difficult. A combination of his ridiculously toned back and the yucky feeling that seems to churn in her stomach when he ignores her is pushing her to be friendlier than originally intended. "Scrambled eggs? Can I help? I promise Harry's opinion on my cooking is a bit out of proportion."

"I've got it. Thanks though." _Almost_ nice. At least more than a monosyllabic grunt.

Hermione chews on her bottom lip, watching him stir the eggs around the skillet as they cook. She feels a little desperate to start a conversation to engage him. Hermione has this sinking feeling she has done something wrong. Maybe he took offense to her overly familiar behavior?

"Tomorrow, I've taken the day so we can start the process to enroll you in licensing classes. I'll take you to the administration office and then we'll figure out transportation for you on days I have to go to the office."

Draco is scraping the eggs from the pan onto two plates. Each already has bagels and lox already prepared. He doesn't respond but instead turns and hands the plate to her. She smiles at him and offers her thanks. He acknowledges with a nod but doesn't exactly meet her gaze.

They sit and eat for a short time before Hermione places her fork on the table. She has decided she needs to stop internalizing and take care of her charge. This probably isn't even about her and she is selfishly focused on completely inappropriate things.

"Are you alright, Draco? You're… quiet today. Is there something we can do? Anything you need?"

The look he gives her, meeting her eyes dead on for the first time this morning, could either wither her or make her shiver. She's not sure which. A beat and then finally he drops his eyes back to his plate and seems to take a breath. "No. Just tired probably. From yesterday. Are you staying in today?"

She nods and starts to say yes but then pauses and smiles broad. "You know what. No. I'm not staying in. And neither are you. It's been a week now and you've hardly been out of my flat. Let's go do something worldly."

He frowns. "You mean something muggle I supposed."

She waves her hand around, rolling her eyes a little. "Tomato. Tomato. You can't just call everything muggle anymore. Or wizarding. It's all rolled up into one. But we could do something you've never done before. Is there anything you know about that has you curious?"

Again he eyes her in that indescribable way but eventually just shrugs. "Not really. I don't really know anything muggle." They are both thoughtful a moment and Hermione is about to start throwing out tourist attractions when he speaks again, in a tone she's never heard.

"There was something, since you ask, but it's not muggle."

At this point she would do nearly anything to help him revert to the playful and open version of himself she had just started to see.

"I'd like to see people I used to know. Or maybe visit Diagon Alley. If it's still even there."

She nods in encouragement. "It is. Though it's not secret anymore. And a lot of muggles wander around like it's a tourist attraction. But it is still primarily a wizard's trade district. We are going to go there tomorrow though, after we get your initial wand permit. We'll go to Ollivander's."

"I… I'm not sure that's a great idea. Surely there are other wand shops…"

Hermione is a bright witch, or so she's been told, and she doesn't need written instructions to figure out Draco's hesitation at seeing the infamous wand vendor. "I've already been to see him, Draco. He has a selection of wands ready for you to try in fact. Wands he feels might work well for you specifically. I promise he harbors no resentment toward you. No more than I."

"Oh, so only a _little_ then." His sarcasm is meant to sting but Hermione just shakes her head.

"So only _none at all_ , Malfoy," she snarks back. Hermione rises from the table. "Come on then. Diagon tomorrow so today let's see if we can't drop in and visit one of your friends. Would you like to see Theo? Or we could…visit Goyle in prison." She hesitates to offer the latter. Visiting Goyle, who is notoriously less than apologetic about his role in the war, is not one of her favorite possible activities. But in this, she feels she needs to give Draco space to make some decisions, finding closure where and with whom he needs.

He looks up at her and searches her face. She's not sure what he sees there but he seems to relax and stands as well, handing his plate over to her expectantly, eyebrows raised. "I cook, you clean. I'll be in the shower." He winks and strides out of the room, calling back over her shoulder, "I'd rather see Theo by the way. Goyle was a knob."

Watching him walk away she shakes her head, equal parts bemused and confused by his erratic mood shifts.

XXXXX

Some could argue it's an abuse of power, using her contacts at work to find the Parkinson's personal information, but this is a work related quest, never mind that it's more of a luxury than a need.

Hermione is in her home office, networked into her office database, dialing the number on Pansy's file. She has been listed as "Non-hostile" by the muggle/wizarding oversight board. She carries full authorization for Charms, Transfigurations, Apparitionary travel, and even a low-level Potions license due to her position with an apothecary in Essex.

The line rings twice before it is answered by what Hermione assumes to be a muggle. "4753. Parkinson."

"Good morning. This is Ms. Granger with Integration Services for Ms. Pansy Parkinson if she is available."

"Hold the line please."

A quick silence is followed by a somewhat less friendly female voice when compared to the presumed muggle. "I didn't know I needed help with Integration, Granger. Or are you calling to hassle Theo now?"

Hermione smiles into the phone though Pansy can't see it, knowing it changes your tone of voice to wear the proper expression. "Nothing of the sort I assure you. I am calling to make a request actually."

She hears Pansy snort into the phone then sardonically reply, "I can't imagine anything you need being of interest to me."

Hermione smile is wearing thin quickly. "I'm calling for Draco Malfoy actually." Silence meets her from the other end of the line so she continues. "He is currently establishing himself with new living arrangements and would very much like to visit with some former associates."

"Translation: He's out of prison and lonely? No need for the professional bullshite, Granger."

She starts to reply, probably a little hotly to the remark, when Pansy bowls over the conversation and brings it to its end. "But sure. Yeah. I bet Theo would like to see him. Bring him 'round my place at three o'clock. I'm sure you know where I live. Muggles know bloody everything. Ta ta, Granger."

And the line goes dead.

What a _joy_ this visit with be.

XXXXX

Draco is feeling a little nervous. Not so much about seeing Theo. They are on equal footing after all. Both ex-Death Eaters, both recently released, both Purebloods floundering like aliens on a new planet.

He's a little nervous to see Pansy again. Nervous but also fucking thankful she's betrothed to someone that is most definitely not Draco Malfoy.

But then Hermione is here and Hermione and Pansy in the same place sounds like a wretched idea. Screechy, nasty, clingy, vapid Pansy Parkinson with clever, confident, bossy Granger? His head already hurts.

Hermione has been oddly quiet in the car on the way, especially after she seemed to be extra-talkative at breakfast. He was wary of her after their almost-moment last night which had left him feeling foolish and frustrated. He had meant to try to 'break the ice' as the muggles say during the drive but he's having trouble forming thoughts while racing around in a big metal coffin. Today, probably because their conversion has been strained, Hermione put some muggle music on in the car so the road noise is a little drowned out by something called "Muse". He's not sure if it makes him feel better to have something else on which to focus or if he's more terrified that his driver might become distracted and forget to look out for…

"That car, Granger! He's really close… just-could you please slow the fuck down!?"

"You need to get used to this you know. If not in a car, you'll most likely be taking a bus when you start classes. Would you feel better if you learned how to drive yourself?"

Yes, matter of fact, he probably would. Draco does not much care for not being in control. He crosses his arms with a bit of petulance and grumbles out, "probably."

He sees her smile from the corner of his eye and it's that cute one-sided smile that makes his head spin so he turns to look out the window instead.

"Once you have some magic permits under your belt we will look into a driving class too."

He grunts in response.

They go back to their Muse-soundtracked silence until he feels the car slow and finally park.

"We're here. Are you ready?" She is looking at him with discerning interest, probably worried he's pushing himself to face something. Little does she realize that this is the easy part. Going back home with her and her stupid tank top is _way_ harder.

He answers by simply unlatching the seatbelt and opening his door a little roughly.

XXXXXXX

Standing shoulder to shoulder with Draco, Hermione is pulled up to her full height (which is diminutive compared to the blonde statue beside her) and trying to look confident and in charge. The door opens to reveal a middle aged woman in a hilariously traditional maid uniform. "Can I help you?"

"Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. We have an appointment with Ms. Parkinson at three this afternoon."

The woman gives a quick nod coupled with a precise blink and then steps back from the door. "Yes of course. This way if you please."

Draco steps back and gestures for Hermione to precede him. She smiles in thanks for his manners and hurries to follow the brisk pace set by Pansy's staff.

The estate is not nearly as large as Hermione remembers Malfoy manor to be, but it is certainly pretty grand by most standards.

Passing through the depth of the residence, they come out the other side exiting onto a lovely stone patio with partial cover that overlooks the well-manicured grounds. Shrubberies shaped into precise rectangular shapes line three paths that lead from each entrance on the back of the house, converging at a tiered fountain at the property center. Between the guests and the lovely scene, a not-too-small table is positioned in their wake, Pansy Parkinson and Theo Nott sitting beside one another and facing back towards the house. They both rise in greeting.

"Madam, Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger as scheduled."

"Thanks, Martha. That will be all." The older lady bows and steps around Hermione to retreat back into the house.

Hermione glances over at Draco to find that classic Malfoy mask of indifference on this face. But his hands are clenched just slightly.

"Ms. Parkinson, thank you for allowing us time in your schedule."

Pansy rolls her eyes and groans. "Oh my _God_ , Granger, are you going to keep up that swotty, stuck-up tone all afternoon? My friends call me 'Pans'. I suppose I could allow 'Pansy' from you though." Then she turns away and seems to have no more time to worry about Hermione Granger.

"Drakie! Oh Merlin we've missed you!" Her arms are thrown around him before he can blink and he actually steps back a bit as to not lose his balance. His arms circle her awkwardly in return.

"Good to see you, Pans." He looks over the patio and nods. "Nott."

Theo walks around the table and offers his hand. Pushing Pansy away gently, perhaps a bit grateful for the excuse, Draco accepts it. What starts as a hesitant shake, ends up in a one-armed gentleman's hug between the two men. "It's good to see you, mate."

Draco smirks. "Of course it is. I'm always a pleasant sight. Isn't that right, Granger?"

Surprised to even be thought of in the moment, Hermione sputters a bit. "Wha- oh uh, yes, of course you are. And not a bit full of yourself." She recovers with the lighthearted snark and smiles at Theo. "It's good to see you, Mr. Nott. You look well."

He nods. "Quite. But that's mostly thanks to Parkinson. She spoils me, you see." The look he gives Pansy is adorably warm and she smiles back indulgently. Hermione can tell their betrothal, if it didn't start as such, has grown into sincere affection.

XXXX

If you ask Draco, Pansy is actually looking great (not that he'd admit it if you did ask of course just in case she caught wind of it). He doesn't think it's just because he's still getting used to seeing women again either. Her black hair is shiny and perfectly coifed. Her figure looks almost identical to her slender frame at age 17, if a bit more developed. With the witch still draped around him like a second coat, he sees Nott approach to offer his hand with a look in his eye that might have been a little bit of jealousy. Draco didn't need to be told out loud to encourage Pansy to let him go. Once the men shake hands, the initial frostiness dissolves and they half-embrace. It does not go unnoticed however, that in the seconds afterwards, Theo stands possessively close to Pansy.

Well, she looks nice and all but he has his own witch to show off, easily the more stunning between the two if you ask Draco. Nevermind she's not actually _his_ per say, but that's just a detail. After a brief exchange with Pansy and Theo, Draco pulls Hermione into the conversation with an obvious tease. "Isn't that right, Granger?"

She seems surprised to have been called upon at all and stumbles over a weak come back. As is becoming his habit, he thinks she's adorable.

Nott says something sickeningly sweet to his intended and Draco can tell he is right smitten with the she-snake. _Better him than me_.

Pansy directs her guests to sit at the table, set with tea-service for four, and claps her hands once. "Nipsy!"

A house elf appears and bows low to the table. "Mistress? How can Nipsy be of service?"

"Be a dear and bring us some light refreshments. Scones or muffins or something… OH! And those little muggle chocolate things I like… you know the ones."

"Mallomars, Mistress?"

"Mallomars! Yes that's the one. Thank you, love."

With a pop the elf is gone.

"Have you had him long?" Hermione does not look like Draco had anticipated. He assumed to turn and find her face screwed up in disgust at the supposed mistreatment of a magical creature. Or her cheeks pink with the effort of biting her tongue. Instead she is taking a calm sip of tea, one pinkie delicately held away from the china.

"Forever. He was with us before The Fall."

"Integration," Hermione corrects.

Pansy waves her hand. "Whatever you want to call it. The end of the world as I knew it. The Fall seems more descriptive to me. Anyway, as I was saying… yes, Nipsy has been with me since I was a child. He was a gift from my Father when I turned five."

"You're taking this well, Granger. In fact I'm surprised house elves were even allowed to stay in service to their masters."

Hermione turns to look at Draco. "House elves can work for whomever they choose." He turns to Pansy for clarification.

"Muggles took all the elves in the beginning. Nipsy kicked and screamed when they collared him. Threw this nasty contraption around his neck to stop him from doing magic and drug him away. Broke my heart to watch it actually. But then they created a service. The elves see the muggle government as their ultimate master but were 'ordered'", Pansy makes air quotes around the word, "to choose homes in which they wanted to be employed. They don't like to be paid so the muggles just made it a tax to have one. I pay the muggles and Nipsy gets to live here and take care of us. Everyone's happy." The look she gives Hermione is unabashedly hostile.

"I don't know why you're giving me that look. I helped create the system so elves could go home to their families. I could see they didn't want to be separated. I'm not heartless you know."

"Just oblivious." Hermione glowers at their hostess and Theo clears his throat.

"So, Drake, you've been out what… a week?" Three sets of eyes turn to look at him and all seem happy for the distraction.

"Yes. It's been bizarre to say the least."

"No doubt. Have you tried driving yet? Or, no! Even better: Have you figured out the internet?"

"Driving and I are not going to be fast friends. As for 'internet', I've not spent much time with that. What is everyone's fascination with it anyway?"

"Are you kidding?! Granger, what did you do show him? Funny cat pictures? ? There's no reason anyone should be so flippant about something that amazing!"

She snickers in response. "I didn't want to overwhelm him so soon. That and also I thought he might like to see the actual world before getting sucked into the time-sink that is 'surfing'."

"Oh no I remember that one. It's that odd muggle sport with a board and water right? We watched it on that awful movie Wednesday."

"Point Break and no, this is a different kind of surfing." Draco pouts at the correction but she seems to notice and pats his hand gently. "Well-remembered though."

He doesn't care for the condescension but he rather fancies the hand contact.

Pansy on the other hand glances at their hands and seems to glare a bit. Adoring though she may seem of Nott, she always did have a possessive streak when it came to Draco.

Nipsy pops back just in time as the conversation has hit an uncomfortable lull.

"Nipsy apologizes for the delay. We was out of Mallomars, we was. But Nipsy has some now." The little elf beams at them all.

Hermione takes one of the offered marshmallow treats. "Thank you. I loved these when I was a girl."

"Yes I forgot. I'm sure being a _muggle_ these aren't so special to you," Pansy snipes out.

"Muggle _born_. Easy mistake I'm sure. And yes I suppose these are a bit old hat. But I'm glad you were finally able to find something about the world to like." The smile Granger graces on Pansy is so saccharine Draco nearly chokes on his scone. She is delicious when she gets spiteful.

Why was he nervous about this? This is delightfully entertaining. Draco grins to himself and looks at Nott. Theo is watching the ladies as if afraid he might have to tackle one of them soon. Draco wouldn't dream of breaking up this cat fight. He winks at his friend and takes another bite.


	6. Chapter 6

Pansy Parkinson is a right bitch, if you ask Hermione. But Draco seems to be having a wonderful time. For all his previous protesting that he felt bad for Theo, he seems to smile at her acidic comments and nasty digs. She is a beautiful woman now. Enough to make Hermione just a teensie bit self-conscious, if she's brutally honest.

All in all, it's been a reasonably nice tea. Theo has been pleasant and Draco became almost immediately relaxed around his old friends. Ultimately she's happy they were able to schedule this time.

That doesn't mean she has _enjoyed_ it. Hermione spent much of the time in quiet contemplation, watching the interaction.

"Perhaps, if you aren't both too busy, we could plan some visits in the future?" She is asking on Draco's behalf but Hermione intends to be a part of their visits as well. Legally, she could probably allow short visits without attending but thinks it might be better to stay involved as he reconnects with his old Slytherin (and Death Eater) friends.

Though Theo strikes her as being Death Eater material about as much as he seems likely to stand up and dance the Rumba. But she supposes that is the way of many of the young followers of the former Dark Lord. Children forced to make an impossible choice who are more than happy to leave it behind them.

"Draco is always welcome here," is Pansy's curt reply. The unspoken finish that Hermione is less welcome is understood by all.

"Granger, let's take them to that Indian place where you always get take-away." Draco says this looking at Hermione then turns to Pansy and Theo. "You would both love it. Theo, remember Mipsy's curry recipe? Puts it to shame."

Theo snorts, "Well that I'd have to see. You basically drank the stuff when we were kids."

Hermione smiles at Draco for continuing to involve her and picks up on his cue. "I think that would be lovely. One evening next week maybe? I can call you later, Pansy."

"Whatever you like, Drakie." She actively avoids speaking to Hermione directly.

"On that note, Draco we should probably let them have their evening. It's getting a bit late. Maybe pick up some dinner from that place for tonight?"

"Sounds wonderful." Before Hermione can stand, Draco has risen and is pulling out her chair for her. One thing you have to say for purebloods and their social etiquette: Their Mommas raised them right.

She gives him an almost shy smile and thanks him quietly. Pansy is glaring daggers across the table to which Theo seems oblivious to his fiancée as he is also watching Hermione's exchange with Draco closely.

"Thank you for having us. It was lovely to get to know some of Draco's friends." At this point Hermione is purposefully playing the role of his date for the afternoon. Earning Pansy Parkinson's ire might be her new favorite pastime.

Draco reaches across the table and offers a hand to Theo who is also standing. "It's great to see you, mate. Really. See you both soon. Thanks for everything, Pans."

He offers her a grin and she nearly snarls out a quick, "Don't mention it." After a pause she continues a little more pleasantly, "I'll walk you out."

Hermione falls in step behind Pansy with Draco beside her. At the front door, Pansy throws it open with a flourish and steps aside so they can exit.

"I'll see you soon, Drakie. Oh and Granger, thank you _so_ much for bringing Draco over. I'm sure it's _such_ a burden, being forced to take on his case. I bet you just can't wait for him to be on his out of that rat's nest you call hair." Pansy voice is laced with venom.

Hermione chooses to ignore the hair quip and tackle the meat of her poisonous comment. "My job is never a burden, Pansy. I am sure Draco will be happy to be on his own but until then my responsibility is to do what's best for him." She feels Draco stiffen beside her and wonders if Pansy offended him by calling him a burden. Pansy's not such a great friend if you ask Hermione. She's happy to have survived the afternoon in a den of snakes.

XXXXX

It is Monday morning and the pair have headed out of Hermione's home into the big wide Muggle world to start Draco's magic authorization process.

The thing about taking the bus, which Hermione failed to consider, is how bloody close she might end up sitting next to the man that has become, against her better judgment, her favorite new fantasy. Dressed in dark grey slacks and a white polo shirt, her charge looks annoyingly crisp and delicious. Crammed together as they are, they are touching absolutely _flush_ from knee to hip. His build is so goddamn _solid_.

It's all she can do to will the blush to remain off her cheeks, trying desperately to think unsexy thoughts.

Filch whispering sweet nothings to his cat.

Lavender Brown screeching her affection at Ron.

Dolores Umbridge stripping on a muggle stage, complete with a pole.

Well _that_ did it.

Hermione had decided it best if Draco learned a little about public transit. Until he has his own license to drive a car, he is at the mercy of her schedule. Unfortunately her office hours are not entirely conducive to acting as his chauffeur, hence the bus.

"I hate this thing, Granger. I mean, I think I trust that muggle man marginally more than you to steer the blasted death trap, but it's noisy. And crowded. And... dirty."

"Because it's full of _muggles_?" She inquires with a pinch of hurt and a dash of offense.

"No, because it's full of _dirt_ , Hermione. Actual dirt."

She snickers and can't help the smile. It's a little endearing, his dry snarky humour. She would swear she sees her little secret smile returned before he wipes his face clean of expression and lifts his chin in mock disdain. She shoulder checks him with something she will admit is close to affection.

"I know you're a delicate flower, Malfoy, but I think you'll manage. This will just motivate you to learn to drive."

"There has to be an alternative. What do wealthy muggles do who don't drive? And don't tell me there aren't any because there is always a wealthy _someone_ who doesn't like to do _something_."

"No, you're right, they exist. Some have drivers. But that won't really help you since you don't trust anyone else to drive you around either. Face it: You have control issues. The only way you're going to be happy is being in the driver's seat. Literally. Who knows, you might even find you like it."

He folds his arms to pout. "Doubtful."

Unfortunately the act of folding his arms pushes his body harder against her side and she is back where she started. His skin feels cool and soft against her but his muscles tight and strong. She resists the urge to snuggle against him. Her eyes discreetly wander to his thighs, and then the fabric between them…

Neville Longbottom in a tutu.

Dumbledore snogging Snape.

That's better.

When the bus approaches their stop, Hermione rises quickly though she tries to exude a calm, unaffected demeanor. She feels Draco at her back, following her onto the street.

"So first we have to get you in the system. We'll have to make another appointment then with a magic counselor to select your classes but that can be set up by phone as soon as we're done here."

He nods and follows her toward a large building. He's quiet and seems to be lost in reverie. She is curious as to his current thoughts when he solves the mystery voluntarily.

"I wonder what happened to the peacocks."

She pauses in step before continuing. "Peacocks?"

"At the manor. We had these brilliant white peacocks that roamed the manor grounds. Since it's gone, I wonder what they did with them."

She cocks her head, considering. "More than likely animal control rounded them up and placed them in a zoo or on a private farm."

He makes no response and they walk on. Climbing the nearly endless stone steps, Hermione is nearly out of breath when they finally reach their destination.

"I don't envy you climbing that mountain of stairs every day."

Draco snorts. "Not so terrible if you're not goblin height."

Batting his arm playfully, Hermione chastises, "That's not very politically correct you know. Using goblins as a derogatory reference for height."

"You're not going to scold me for making fun of you then? Just for my insensitive wording?"

"Oh please. After 6 years of "bushy-haired beaver"? I can handle that I'm short. I _am_ short. At least compared to you... You're a right monster," she grins.

He smirks down at her. "Your hair's still bushy."

Stopping dead in her tracks, she glares at him. He opens the door and starts to walk through before shooting back over his shoulder, "doesn't mean it's not fetching."

Safely out of his line of sight, Hermione blushes.

XXXXXX

"We're here to begin enrollment in autumn magic use courses."

Draco is standing a step to Hermione's right, watching the proceedings as if indifferent but he is secretly buzzing. Finally, _finally_ , he will have his wand back. Just sign up for these silly muggle classes, which are worthless of course. What can this muggle school teach a Malfoy about magic?

"Of course. And are you both interested in the same classes?" The petite muggle woman speaks to Hermione but her eyes stray Draco's direction. He raises his eyebrow as she gives him a not so subtle once-over.

Hermione clears her throat to bring the girl's attention back her way. "No, only my friend. I'm just helping him sign up."

"Oh, so you'll be all on your own then?" Her attention is now unabashedly on Draco. "Don't worry, we will take excellent care of you. Do you have any magic licenses yet?"

Hermione starts to speak but Draco is feeling a little bold from the muggle's attention. He has no interest in her of course, but he can tell the exchange is already getting under Hermione's skin. He's not sure why he enjoys riling her up, and will probably pay for it later, but like a kid with a cookie jar, he just can't resist.

"No, love, not as such. This will be my first time." He winks and leans on the counter between them. From the corner of his eye, he sees Hermione's jaw clench.

The girl, who Draco supposes is not wholly unattractive but perfectly forgettable, pulls out a form and a writing instrument that he assumes to be some sort of featherless quill. She lays the parchment on the counter but hands the quill over, her fingers just brushing Draco's as he takes it into his grip. "Just take a seat right there and bring that right back when you're finished. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask. My name's Katie if you need _anything_." Her smile is as suggestive as her tone.

Draco looks down at the quill and frowns a bit. "Well there is one thing. Your quill doesn't seem quite right." He makes as if to mark on the paper with no result. "And I seem to be missing an ink well."

She giggles and reaches over the counter. "Allow me." Wrapping her hand around his, she holds his grip steady and extends her thumb up over the tip to click the pen into writing position. Her eyes hold his gaze throughout the process. "You must be one of the 'purebloods'."

"Is it that obvious?" He graces her with a sheepish grin. Behind him, he could swear he hears Hermione groan. "I'll just finish this, shall I? Be back shortly." He turns and approaches the chairs to which the muggle girl had gestured and sits languidly as if mounting a throne. Hermione flops down next to him and he can tell she's in a snit.

Glancing at her, she is glaring at him openly. "What? Was I not appropriately friendly to the muggle?"

She looks away before she mumbles back, "friendly sure, but not what I'd call _appropriate_."

He chuckles and begins answering the questions on the form in his hand. "Why does it want to know if I have sex?"

Hermione does a double take and snatches the paper away. "Let me see that! They can't ask that kind of personal… Oh my God, Malfoy." She throws it back at him. " _Gender_. Are you trying to get slapped again?"

"Who knows why I do the things I do really," he says airily but with a little grin on his lips.

"To drive me mad I suspect." But he sees the tiny smile there. It's all he wanted from this whole exchange. Work her into a little frenzy then bring her attention back to him. Why is that so much fun?

She sits patiently while he finishes the form. Once complete she snatches it from his grip and stomps back to the desk, flinging it at the poor muggle girl. Eventually the muggle 'types' on a 'computer' and hands a parchment to Hermione. He approaches after this exchange and catches the end of the conversation.

"… provide me the class roster we will schedule an appointment with an advisor to complete the process."

"Yes, Miss, here is the welcome packet with class descriptions and available time slots." Once again the woman looks away from Hermione and back at Draco now that he is close enough to engage in the conversation. "Did you have any questions I could answer for you, Mister…." A pause as she glances at the paper… "Mister Malfoy?"

"No I think that will quite cover what I needed today. But thank you for your assistance with that puzzling quill. Perhaps I'll see you on a future visit."

"Yes that would be lovely," She purrs. "I'm usually here-"

"We need to leave, _Draco_. We have other appointments." Hermione interrupts the girl and grabs his arm, steering him away. She sends one last glare at the muggle. "Thank you for your help."

It doesn't escape him that she really hit his first name hard in that moment. Like she wanted to hammer home a certain familiarity in front of the girl. It might be indulgent to imagine it was born from jealousy on her part. Sometimes Draco likes to indulge.

XXXX

Hermione drives in silence, unsure why she is fuming exactly. Or unwilling to admit it perhaps. A part of her knows Draco probably has no real interest in pursuing that vapid little harlot, yet she is inexplicably incensed. Probably she is just offended on behalf of women everywhere that he would so blatantly toy with the poor girl.

Probably.

By the time they make it back home, she has calmed herself. "I'll call up to administration and see when we can schedule your official enrollment. They have classes all the time so there shouldn't be much of a waiting period-"

"Waiting period? Wait a second, I thought we were going to get a wand now? I need my magic back, Granger."

"Well yes and no. I mean yes we are going to Ollivander's. We have an appointment at four. We just received the approval slip for you to make a purchase. But just because you have a wand, you won't be able to use it until we get you a permit."

"You've got to be fucking kidding."

Hermione shrugs apologetically. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'll push to get you verified as soon as possible. I have a little pull with my position. If there's a way to hurry the process along, I'll find it."

He lets out a long breath before stomping toward the kitchen. "Fine. Make the call. I'll make lunch."

She thinks, _he's cute when he's petulant_.

 _Goddammit, Hermione_.

She shakes her head at herself and her continuing, if not increasing, attraction to her government appointed roommate.

Draco makes a simple lunch of ham sandwiches and calls for Hermione to join him. They take the meal, as they take most, casually in her eat-in kitchen rather than trekking to the dining room. He sits as soon as she enters but she first makes a stop at the refrigerator and takes out two bottles of brown ale, setting one in front of him on the table.

"A little early isn't it, Golden Girl?"

She shrugs and pops open her beer. "I thought it might help calm your nerves."

He scoffs in reply and straightens his posture. "I am hardly nervous."

She doesn't argue but watches as he takes a long pull from the bottle rather than continue to protest.

"Mr. Ollivander thinks your core element will most likely change. People rarely draw the same type of wand as an adult as they do as a child. In fact, there have only been a handful of people who consistently draw the same core their whole lives-"

"Yes, yes, I know. I am a bloody wizard lest you've forgotten. Easy to do I suppose what with being completely impotent of magic."

Hermione was simply trying to make conversation but Draco's tone is becoming more hostile. "I'm sorry. I'm rubbish at this."

"At what," he bites out?

She bites her lip and looks down. "Trying to make you feel better."

She doesn't see it but he looks a little stunned before slipping his expressionless mask back over his features. "You don't have to. That's not part of your job as I understand it."

She hears a bite in his voice. Offense? Hurt? Surely not. "Not everything I do is just because it's my job you know."

"That's not the impression I've received."

Exasperated at what he even means by that, she takes another drink. "I just thought I'd be nice. Anyway, we can head to Diagon Alley in a bit. Maybe look around a little. Much of it is still as you'll remember. Just a few differences. I think there's a McDonald's on the corner."

She is surprised to be met by a laugh. An honest and surprised laugh from the usually stoic and often stern Draco Malfoy. "Of course there is. Muggles take over our entire world and what do they do? Build a carpark on my house and a restaurant with garbage food next to Gringott's."

It's a sad thing really. Especially about his manor. But she can't help it. His self-depreciating snark and honest smile infects her brain and she joins him in his odd moment of mirth.

When the laughter dies down there is a silence until he speaks again, his expression softer than before. "I appreciate it you know."

"What's that?"

"Trying to make me feel better." She smiles back at him. He takes a quick drink then continues with humour lacing his voice. "I mean you're right though. You're absolutely terrible at it. You're such a swot. Lecturing, for future reference, is _not_ comforting."

She smiles and responds, "It's the only way I know." They finish their lunch in peace and she suddenly doesn't mind his silence as long as that small smile dances on his lips.

 **A/N I must apologize for the wait between chapters. Perhaps I should not have spent last weekend on the related one-shot! I want to say a quick thank you for all the follows/faves/reviews for both this story and the fluffy "First They Came" I threw up last week. It thrills me to no end with each notification!**


	7. Chapter 7

After the last few days of cars, buses, and otherwise terrifying muggle travel, Draco is thrilled to apparate for the first time in years, even if he does have to side-along.

"Apparition is strictly monitored so even once you have a license you can't go just anywhere. Luckily, Diagon Alley has an apparition lot nearby." She reaches over and takes his hand. Draco swears he can already feel the tingle of magic course through him. "Ready?"

He nods but stares straight ahead. As much as he hates that sickening feeling of being pulled through a too-small space, he is quite excited.

Unfortunately, Draco does not anticipate that after so many years it is almost like doing it for the first time. The world collapses away then spits him back out in the middle of an empty space, devoid of anything save a small structure that looks like a ticket booth standing several feet away. He bends in the middle, hands on his thighs and nearly heaves his lunch back up on his feet, only just managing to swallow it back down. He feels Hermione place a soothing hand on his back and rub circles softly. Draco might relish in her touch under other circumstances but right now all he can concentrate on is trying to breathe and keep standing on his feet.

As the nausea fades, he is left feeling embarrassed and a bit angry. "I've done that a thousand fucking times."

"But not in quite a while, Draco. Next time will be a hundred times easier."

Straightening up, he sloughs her hand off his back and hardens his stare across to the little booth. "So what's that then?"

"Oh, that's the toll collector."

"There's a _toll_? To _apparate_? You're not serious."

"I'm afraid I am. Any public area like this has to be maintained so they collect a toll to pay for that."

"It's an empty space, Granger! How much bloody upkeep could it take?"

"Well… it also helps pay for… Sanctioned Magic Enforcement." She mumbles the last and Draco is sure he misheard.

"I'm sorry the what?"

She clears her throat and says with more confidence, "Sanctioned Magic Enforcement. The S.M.E. It's a network of wizards that detect unlawful magic use."

He looks at her in abject horror. _Wizards who turn in other wizards… to_ muggles _?!_

"That's…" he feels a tirade start to build. His disgust is palpable. "How can any self-respecting wizard turn in his own kind?"

She looks at him with something similar to pity which does nothing to calm him. "Draco, we're all the same kind. Some of us just do magic and some don't."

"No, Granger, we're not the same. I'm not the same as them! You can blame me for bad choices and condemn me for being a coward but you will never convince me I am the same as a _muggle_." He spits the word at her in disdain.

He sees her flinch and can't bring himself to care. It's not as if he is insulting her or anything. He's not talking about blood purity. Just ability. Being better... _more_. She was born better just as he was. Why should she care what he thinks of some faceless muggle?

She takes a deep breath and he watches her bite her lip a moment as she formulates what she will say. "I know this is all difficult for you. I'm trying hard to remember the day I found out about magic. All of a sudden the world I knew was this different place with things I couldn't have imagined to be true. And I was at a disadvantage. It was all new but for people like you it was just where you live." Hermione tilts her head up to him.

"There are no 'muggles' anymore, Draco. I mean there are as you understand it but most people don't use that word. There are so few of us that use magic. _They_ are not the 'other'. _We_ are. They call us witches and wizards and sorcerers and warlocks and devils and any number of things, good and bad. It's a struggle to just have them refer to us as a person. As a man or woman instead of some label to separate us."

He can't hold her gaze and looks away, grinding his teeth.

"Hey." Her small hand is reaching up and rests on his arm. He doesn't want to look back at her but can't help his treacherous eyes from settling first on her hand, then on her open face. "I'm still like you, you know. I mean, I'm still a witch and I'm here with you."

Draco squeezes his eyes closed and sighs, trying to let go of his anger.

When he opens them, a smile has revisited her face and she gives his arm a playful tap. "Besides, my parents are muggles and we're having dinner with them tomorrow so be nice." He gapes at her as she sashays away and goes to pay their toll.

XXXXXX

Taking Draco to Diagon Alley is both nothing and everything like Hermione imagined. He is simultaneously comforted by the familiar store fronts and some faces, but also aghast at the muggle influence. After their shaky start at the apparition point, he calmed considerably watching her pay the toll with wizarding currency. Apparition points are one of the few muggle locations that still accepts knuts and galleons. The British government instituted that policy at the urging of her own department as a way for wizards to keep some sense of what her supervisor billed 'their lost heritage'. Wizard run shops and other businesses also deal in wizarding monies but the exchange rate to muggle currency is less than desirable.

Having arrived at two in the afternoon, the pair have a considerable amount of time to kill before making their way to the wand maker for their four o'clock appointment.

"There's no… I mean, you can just walk right… this is so fucking odd." He is referring to the fact that Diagon Alley is now like any other street. There's no secret brick to magically move and reveal the wizards commerce district. It's no different than waltzing into Chinatown.

"No need," she shrugs. "Muggles are welcome to shop here. Though many are still too nervous to do so.

"Bags of Holding! Real life extended bags. Carries up to two hundred pounds! Get your very own Bag of Holding!"

A peddler has a cart set up on the street, close to the beginning of the alley and is enticing the crowd to view his wares.

"What's a 'bag of holding'? Is it just charmed to be extendable?"

Hermione looks over at the peddler but keeps walking, unimpressed, having seen it before. "Yes, exactly. There is this old muggle book series. Well really it's a game too but that's beside the point. It was full of Dragons and Elves and things that muggles didn't believe in…and magic. And there was this thing called a "Bag of Holding" that was just a magic bag to carry more than it appeared. Someone marketed it to muggles a couple of years ago. HUGE hit actually, wish I'd thought of it." She chuckles a little.

"Why didn't you? I mean not that precisely but I bet there are countless galleons to be made using magic marketed to muggles."

She smiles and shakes her head. "Not my cup of tea. That's more for your sort. Now if _you_ wanted to do something like that…I mean you're nearly as brilliant as I am and you have the funds to start up production."

"Nearly as brilliant? Granger you wound me."

"Hey brightest witch remember? I mean you get to be Slytherin Prince but royalty and brains, not always packaged together." She winks and walks on, noticing the little smirk rewarded for her cheek.

"Is that the Weasel's place?"

Hermione looks over at the garish purple store front and nods. "George's place. He still owns it too. Muggles increased his sales 50% the first year he was open after Integration. He closed for a little while you know, when it all had to shake out. But now he's franchising. Opening a place in the states next year. Paris just last month."

Draco whistles his approval. "That's impressive for a ginger."

"Would you like to go inside?" He stops walking suddenly and considers.

"I'm not sure anyone in that building would be happy to see me."

She takes note of the suddenly serious and apprehensive posture of her companion and steps in front of him. "Maybe don't call anyone 'Weasel' or 'ginger' then. I think they might surprise you. For that matter, I think _you_ might surprise _them_. Afterall, you've not been unpleasant to be around."

She watches his face morph quickly to that sort of blank mask and then he changes to the smirking pureblood princeling. "You think I'm not unpleasant?" he asks with mock elation. "Why, Granger, that might be first really nice thing you've said about me."

Hermione starts walking to the Weasley's store and pulls Draco along by the hand, lacing their fingers together without hesitation. "Don't be ridiculous. Why just yesterday I told you your food didn't make me want to eat my own hand. _That_ was nice."

At the door, Hermione enters first to get a lay of the land and see who she will have to contend with. Her confidence in the forgiving nature of the Weasley family is genuine, but maybe only if you remove Ron from the equation. On that, she is a little less sure. She makes a mental note that it has been some time since she visited with the more volatile one third of the Golden Trio.

"George?" She approaches the cashier's counter at the back of the store, weaving around a couple of groups of patrons. She's honestly not sure if they are wizards or muggles and it makes her both a little sad and a little happy she can't tell. She can feel Draco keeping close and hears him mumble an "excuse me" to a group she was able to easily glide by with her small frame.

"'Mione? That you, love?"

She beams at George who is emerging from the back room, a box of extendable ears in his hand. "Hey, George."

"To what do I owe this pleasure? You don't call, you don't write, you don't send me nude photo texts…" he wriggles his eyebrows and leers playfully.

"I can't imagine Angelina would much enjoy that."

"You never know. Great sense of adventure, that one." Hermione rolls her eyes and goes to speak again, caught up in their friendly banter, when George lifts his gaze from her and she knows by his expression where it falls.

"Malfoy. Can I help you?" To say he darkens, compared to the usual happy-go-lucky tone, is an understatement.

"I'm with her." Hermione doesn't have to turn around to imagine the scowl hiding his discomfort.

"Sorry, George, you remember Draco…obviously. We have an appointment at Ollivander's and thought we'd pop in. I hope… that's ok."

"Sure, Hermione, no problem. I was just… surprised is all. You don't wake up and expect…" He shakes his head and when he stops, his crooked smile is back in place. It occurs to Hermione that George's smile might be as much of a mask sometimes as Draco's blank expression.

She watches as the redhead reaches around her to extend a hand. His smile is tight but doesn't falter. "Been a long time."

Draco hesitates but grasps George's hand with his own and gives it one firm shake. "It has. I hear your business is very successful. Congratulations."

He shrugs and they drop their hands away. "I've been lucky. Got in at literally the perfect time. Who knew the end of the world could be so profitable."

Draco snorts and just like that, everything is ok.

"How many locations do you have now?"

Ticking off on his fingers, George mumbles numbers under his breath before he finally says, "thirteen, mostly in Europe. Just opened Paris in fact."

"Granger mentioned. And crossing the water next year she said."

He nods, the smile becoming more genuine all the time. "It'll be fourteen by April. But I'll always run this one. Feels like home you know? It's the original."

Hermione remembers when George and Fred opened the business, much to their Mother's disappointment. They had been incredibly proud. Thinking back on it makes her smile, but there is sadness too. Fred never was able to see…anything really. The business success, the integration with the muggle world, not even the end of the war. She chances a look at George and they lock eyes a moment, silently memorializing his fallen brother.

If Draco notices the exchange, he makes no comment and instead continues the conversation. "I expect your overhead versus profit is in a great position. What's your payroll percentage?"

Fred laughs. "I'm not the bloke to answer that. You'd have to talk to my accountant."

"You don't do your own books?" Draco looks quite surprised.

"Nah. Never did. Fred and I, well it wasn't really our bag, yeah? Hired a witch not long after we first opened. She retired during integration. Said she was "too old to learn all these newfangled muggle laws". I hired a muggle accounting firm once I secured all my permits to keep operating."

Seeming to remember suddenly that she is there, Draco turns to Hermione and gestures to George. "See? Someone still says muggle."

She rolls her eyes but with a grin of playful exasperation. "Yes, point zero one percent of the population. Mostly purebloods. To that degree I suppose you're right."

He places his cupped hand by his ear. "What was that again? George, did you make that out?"

George's eyes ping-pong between their familiar and comfortable exchange and his eyebrows raise but he doesn't answer.

"What? Point zero one? Too high a number?"

"No, no the other bit. The part where Hermione Granger was wrong."

"I'm not wrong."

Draco tuts. "I clearly recall having a disagreement regarding this conversation. And I even _more_ clearly just now heard you say I was right. Which, one must infer, would make you wrong."

"You're insufferable."

"So I've been told."

 **A/N This is one of my shorter chapters I'll admit but I was ready for a scene break so it seemed a good place to stop. A bit of a fluff chapter but I was enjoying sauntering around Diagon a bit. Next chapter Gringotts and Ollivander's and another stop or two. I'm curious if there are other wizarding stops anyone would be interested to see. Next chapter is partially written and I hope for a shorter wait this time before posting. Thanks so much for the reviews. If you post anonymously I can't reply directly to you but I appreciate the comments and don't want it to go unsaid. As always reviews are treasured, faves are exciting, and follows are fuel to the fire!**


	8. Chapter 8

Draco is surprised by how pleasant the lone Weasley twin had spoken to him. Perhaps Granger was right. Not that he'd admit it to her. After a brief conversation about the joke shop and George's (self-admittedly casual) business plan, Draco follows Hermione back out into the street.

"We should stop into Gringott's next. Grab some Galleons for Ollivander. I only had muggle money prepared for your release."

He looks over at her and raises one brow in question.

She raises a brow right back and smirks. "What, you thought I was going to buy your wand for you? Please. It's all you, Mr. Moneybags."

She quickens her pace and Draco falls in beside her, rolling his eyes. Glancing to his left he points at a yellow arched symbol. "You weren't kidding then, were you?"

"Not at all. I know you know what it is from the telly but, do you want to see what all the fuss is about?"

Draco scoffs. "No thank you. I've dined in some of the finest wizarding restaurants in the world. I cut my teeth on classic French cuisine. I've eaten the freshest fish straight from the ocean in Japan. Admittedly it's been a while but still, I'm not slumming in a muggle take-away place."

"You are such a snob."

"Absolutely."

His bald, unflinching statement seems to tickle her and she laughs in a positively endearing way. "You know I appreciate fine food like anyone but haven't you ever heard of a guilty pleasure?"

"No but it sounds intriguing," he teases with a mockingly sexy voice.

It earns him another playful arm slap before she grabs his sleeve and pulls him toward the restaurant.

"Hey, wait, Granger, I was kidding. We really don't need to do this."

"Oh come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Think I lost that somewhere in Scotland," he grumbles back.

Within minutes, they are seated at a small table with a tray holding oddly wrapped food between them.

"I thought this was a muggle place."

Hermione picks up a cheeseburger and begins to unwrap it as she answers. "It is. Been around for decades. Why?"

He frowns and looks around before lowering his voice. "Maybe they have wizards here and no one knows. Maybe it was a wizard place all along."

She stops and looks up at him, furrowing her brows. "What are you on about?"

"It's too fast. I've been eating muggle food for a while now. I know how long it takes to make cooked meat like that sandwich." He points at her burger. "Is the meat enchanted?"

She sniggers. "No, it's not enchanted. Purely muggle made. Just… just try it okay?" She offers the now-unwrapped sandwich with a lopsided grin that turns into a full blown smile as he gingerly holds it between two fingers, a look of abject disgust on his face.

He doesn't want to admit he likes it. Draco chews slowly and tries to mask his reaction while deciding what to tell her. How can something so obviously low quality be so…

"Yummy, hmm? I won't even make you admit it out loud. The fact that you haven't handed it back is all I need to know." Her facial expression is one of smug self-satisfaction and she reaches for another cheeseburger to claim as her own.

They both take a few bites before he decides to verbally concede, "It's not wretched. By all rights it should be though." Then, remembering earlier in their afternoon, "Now what is this about dinner with your parents?"

To her credit, Hermione looks a little chastised. "Sorry to spring that on you. I was trying to lighten the mood a little. But yes, they have been hounding me to visit lately and my Mum says she is itching to meet you."

"Me? Why, other than perhaps to berate me for my poor treatment of you in the past, would your family want anything to do with me?"

Hermione sighs and balls up the wrappers on their table, placing them on the tray. "She won't berate you. If anything I'm afraid she'll be overly accommodating. My Mum and Dad love a good cause. They help organize charity events, donate funds to community projects-"

"I am not a project, Granger."

"I know that, Draco-"

"And don't placate me with that tone either; whining my first name and giving me 'soft eyes'."

She visibly straightens and starts over. "I'm not placating you and you are not a fucking project. You're a person and a wizard and it's my job to help you because you've already paid a price for any mistakes you may have made. I promise my parents will be kind and if they aren't, they will answer to me. But you need to lose that chip on your shoulder."

Draco looks away and doesn't say anything else on the subject. There again she lays it out there. _Her job._ She could not make him more painfully aware that he is an obligation. Why does he continue to expect anything else?

" _Not everything I do is just because it's my job,"_ she had said. The retort he had held in that moment was that 'everything' and 'most' is close enough.

Rising from the table, Hermione collects the tray and carries it a few feet to a rubbish bin to toss the paper remnants of their snack. When she returns, she seems to have found some kind of resolve and offers him a smile. "Come on then. Sorry I took us off track. Let's collect some Galleons and get you a wand."

Draco stands with a little reluctance but ultimately follows the witch out the door and they continue their walk in an almost comfortable silence. He might be her job, but she has treated him with more respect than he probably deserves. Maybe he does have a chip on his shoulder.

One of the most palpable differences between the Diagon Alley of his childhood and now is the nigh complete lack of robes. Mostly only the elderly don the traditional garments. Witches and wizards alike of various age ranges saunter the streets in muggle clothes. Or he assumes they're wizards. Who can tell?

A man passes in a black muggle business suit with a mobile phone held to his ear, yet also a wand playing between the fingers of his other hand. Draco watches him with interest as they pass, noting the way he twirls the wand deftly. A wizard, obviously, with that wand play.

A witch catches his eye next. She is older, wearing robes even, but she is carrying a handbag with a small dog tucked inside. Hermione had pointed out this muggle trend when they had been shopping shortly after his arrival. He also notices as her feet kick out from under her robes with each step she is wearing something Granger called "Crocs".

Next is a group of young women, all wearing robes but they are cheaply made and not one of them has a wand visible. They are staring into Fortescue's and pointing excitedly at whatever it is they see inside. "Magical groupies", Granger mumbles at him. She's mentioned them before: Muggles who covet this formerly secret world and dress the part for entertainment.

The worlds that his family fought so hard to keep separate have melded in such an odd way. It's like two puzzles dumped on a table then thrown together however you can find a tab to fit an indention. It might not quite fit but if you shove it together and squint, you can fool yourself into believing it works.

He shakes his head and continues to follow her through the familiar door of Gringotts and stops dead as soon as he is inside.

"There are… what happened…" He pauses and looks around. "This is a _Goblin_ bank, Granger," he hisses in a low voice. "It's _always_ been a goblin bank."

"Oh it still is. Still Goblin owned. But they had to comply with some laws about diversity. Can't hire based on race so they put some people into various teller positions. Even some of the higher executives, as I understand it. The vice-president is a muggle actually. Oxford grad. Genius with numbers."

"You could have warned me."

Hermione shrugs a little. "Sorry. I admit I forget some things. I'm sort of used to this now but I get that it's a shock for you. I promise though, they still run Gringotts with respect and amazing security. Your vault is safe. You will, however, need to show your muggle identification to access it."

He nods and they continue to a counter. They are greeted by a young wizard that nearly looks like he could still be in Hogwarts.

"Good afternoon. Welcome to Gringotts. How can I assist you?"

"I need to access my vault."

"Certainly sir. Might I see your identification?"

Draco pulls the card Hermione had given him from his pocket and hands it to the teller. He clearly remembers a day he could saunter in and be recognized simply by his platinum hair.

The young teller frowns as he looks over the muggle credential. "Mister… Malfoy. I see," he clips out.

Hermione bristles beside him. "We are rather in a hurry. As long as everything is in order, we would like to continue as quickly as possible."

The boy (because Draco refuses to acknowledge him as a man) clears his throat and rings a small bell to his right. "Yes. Of course. I'll just ring your escort then."

Knowing there will be a short wait, and not comfortable with Hermione fighting his battles, Draco leans on the counter and sneers at the boy, "recognize the name do you?"

"It would be hard not to."

"I imagine. It's one of the oldest Pureblood names in Wizarding Britain."

"Indeed. And very instrumental in the events preceding Integration. Ironic isn't it…"

He mumbles the last under his breath and Draco opens his mouth to say something that he will most likely regret when Hermione places a hand on his arm. He imagines she is going to say something trite like "he's not worth it" or "be the bigger man". Instead she looks at him with sincere eyes and says "He's right of course. Imagine how differently things could have been if you'd not lied to Bellatrix for me. For Harry. I've always thought you were one of the quiet heroes. The kind the papers forget to mention."

"I-", Draco is stunned. They don't talk about the war much. And that event is one of the few in his life he can look at with a little less self-hatred. He's still ashamed. In that moment he knows he could have done more. But he could have done _less_ too so that helps him sleep at night. He's saved from continuing that thought when a Goblin approaches and looks him up and down before speaking with something close to respect.

"Mr. Malfoy. Always an honor to serve your family. If you would follow me this way."

The pair follow behind, leaving a young wizard gaping at war heroine Hermione Granger calling Death Eater Draco Malfoy a hero.

XXXXXX

Hermione remembers just in time to lean over and spare Draco another shock. She whispers, "The travel to the vaults is different by the way. Just so you're not surprised."

"Different how?"

Before she can answer, their escort presses a button on a wall and the subtle doors, nearly camouflaged to the wall, immediately slide open. He gestures inside, "After you, sir."

Draco looks back and Hermione and then into the small room that looks like it could suffocate him within minutes. "What is that?"

"It's a lift," she says with obvious confusion. "Like at the ministry."

"Don't they have one of those…what were they? Excalator?"

She smiles and nudges him forward with the palm of her hand on his back. "Escalator. And no I'm afraid they don't. What I find hilarious is that roller coaster of a cart system they used to have seemed perfectly civil to you but this...?"

"This is a damn coffin, Granger."

Pushing him more firmly and following him inside, she settles to lean against the wall, next to where he stands rigid. "You are so dramatic."

"Subfloor eighty-five. We will arrive momentarily." The Goblin pushes one of the buttons. Hermione has been to Gringotts many times but still finds it jarring to see the "Lobby Level" button at the top of the number pad rather than the bottom. Now that it has been restructured by technology, the vastness of the banks caverns can be fully understood. With one hundred and eight sublevels, it is like a skyscraper turned upside down.

She glances over at Draco to see his face impossibly whiter than usual and stifles a snicker at his expense.

"Don't laugh at me."

Perhaps she didn't stifle it completely

"Sorry," but they both know she is not in the slightest. "Are you claustrophobic?"

"What gave it away?" He sneers and screws his eyes shut.

The lift comes to a gradual and smooth stop and the doors slide open.

They follow the Goblin into a clean and carpeted corridor and Hermione feels Draco close to her ear. "Are the lift doors magic? Or muggle?"

"Muggle. Been around for years."

He makes a short hum of understanding but no further reply.

At a heavy silver door with a keypad to its right, the trio stop. "Because this is your first visit since we restructured, I'll need you to create a passcode. I'll access the system with a management sequence then you type in the numbers you want to use in the future."

Draco seems to get the gist and follows the instructions, choosing 561980. Hermione thinks to mention that birthdays are not terribly secure passwords but decides he has enough to deal with and really, the bank is pretty damn secure even if they left the door wide open.

The code is set and the doors open. The Goblin bows curtly. "I'll leave you in privacy, sir. Will you be needing currency conversion services this afternoon?"

Hermione steps in to answer. "Not today. We are doing local shopping." He nods understanding and turns to leave them.

"Maybe I should."

She looks at Draco as he heads into the room. "Should what?"

"Exchange currency," he says over his shoulder. "I mean, for later. Once the funds you set up run out."

"I'd leave it until you need it. Exchange rate is down but it's expected to come up by the end of the month."

"Why, Granger, I never pegged you to stay on top of finance."

She shrugs. "It's closely related to everything I do with integration. A lot of the families I represent could have easily lost even more of their wizarding means with bad investment and exchange transactions."

Draco collects a small purse of galleons and a box of what Hermione would call "trinkets" and heads back to where Hermione is waiting at the door. She gestures to the box in question.

"Some things of my Mother's," comes his taciturn reply.

She has no response except an understanding nod.

They are unescorted on the return trip. Draco clings to the elevator wall with even more obvious discomfort since they are alone. Hermione slides her hand into his and squeezes lightly. He doesn't look down at her but he does give a slight returning pressure on her hand.

When the doors slide open, revealing the lobby and back to the ground floor, Draco strides out like the Emperor of the free world. Hermione follows behind, smirking and shaking her head.

XXXXX

When he's sees Ollivander's place, the first time in years though it looks almost completely the same, there is a throb of pain in his chest. Draco concentrates on a calm demeanor. Granger says the man holds no grudge.

 _Because that's likely. I'm sure if I was held in a dungeon for weeks I'd invite the family for some pick-up Quidditch and tea…_

Then again, Hermione hasn't lead him astray yet.

He slows his stride and, in a move one could argue as chivalrous (or possibly cowardly), he pushes the door open and stands aside to allow his companion to enter ahead of him. She nods her thanks in an endearingly bashful way. Nervous though he is, Draco allows a half smile. It's amazing how she can be one of the strongest, most confident people he's ever known, yet falter at his attentions. Remove her superbly professional attitude toward him and it's fun to imagine pushing their boundaries a bit more.

"Ah, Ms. Granger. Punctual as ever. And Mr. Malfoy. It has been some time indeed."

"Mr. Ollivander, thank you so much for meeting with us." She offers him a politician's smile.

He waves away the thought and gestures for them to follow him to the impossibly tall stack of thin boxes. Draco remembers another lifetime. He is an arrogant, entitled child and he sneers at the cramped, dusty store with its faded letters and bare floors. That boy died a thousand deaths, pieces stripped away slowly by fear and loss and bitterness. The man left behind, peeled to the core like an onion until there was virtually nothing left, is comforted by the aged wood and soft voice of the shopkeeper. He feels humble. So of course, in true Draco fashion, he holds his head high and pretends to be everything he once was and nothing that he is today.

"Now. To the business of a new wand for an old soul. Have you an inkling what might choose you these days, Mr. Malfoy? I have some ideas of my own you see." He points to four boxes that are separated from the rest.

Draco shakes his head. "No, sir, I've no idea what wand will choose me." Still holding himself with pride but he speaks politely, almost reverent. Being in the company of so many wands and their maker feels like hallowed ground. He feels the pulse of magic in the room and could nearly fall prostrate at a pile of boxes stacked on the floor.

"Things change, you know. Even old Ollivander. I've new materials now. This one, for instance, I think might work for you." He lifts a box and open the case, showcasing the contents to his customers. "Fourteen inches. Ash. But the core… the core is a departure from what you would be accustomed to in this shop. Manticore hair. I regret I did not take more advantage of their gift before they vanished from us forever."

He hands the wand over and Draco closes his eyes, wrapping his fingers around the wood and sighing in absolute relief.

This is not his wand. He knows that. It does not choose him. But he can still feel his magic channeling and focusing. It would work for him if pressed. Regretfully, he shakes his head and makes to hand it back. His fingers hesitate a moment before letting go.

"Hmmm interesting. I expected that to match you well. This then perhaps. Twelve and a half inches. Yew. Trusty unicorn hair, as you had before." Opening another box, he offers it and Draco latches on eagerly, assuming the unicorn core will feel like home. He is disappointed when it proves even less agreeable than the last. The pulse of magic is faint and not nearly as satisfying as the last wand, unsuited for him though it had been.

Ollivander snatches it away. "Obviously not. Third time's a charm those muggles like to say, yes?" He offers the next box. "Twelve inches. African Blackwood." Hermione sucks in a breath but holds her tongue. Ollivander's eyes glance her way and he bites out a bit irritated, "Acquired legally, I assure you, Ms. Granger."

Focusing back on Draco, the pulse of warmth is palpable in the room. This is his wand. "Third time's the charm," he mumbles to himself like a prayer. His knees almost buckle in relief.

Ollivander clears his throat. "As I was saying. Twelve inches, Blackwood, Phoenix ash core. It seems you, like the dear bird housed within, have the potential to rise again, Mr. Malfoy. That will be fifteen galleons."

That shocks Draco out of his reverie a little. "Fifteen? My first wand was seven."

"Inflation of course. And muggle permits. Overhead is killing me."

XXXXX

Hermione allowed Draco to stand in the shop for another five minutes simply holding his wand. He isn't allowed to cast so much as a Lumos but she could practically taste the satisfaction emanating from him simply from holding the wand.

"What was that about the wood?"

She looks at him as they stroll casually back down Diagon toward the apparition lot. "Oh the Blackwood? Very endangered. Illegal to harvest in most markets. It was already hurting by muggle standards. Used for furniture and flutes and such. But after Integration, wand makers depleted it even more."

Draco nods in response but makes no comment. He is holding the wand case close to him as they walk, fingering the latch lovingly.

"Could he be right?"

Hermione raises her eyebrow, "Could who be right about what?"

"Ollivander. Can I rise again? Can I pull myself out of this miserable purgatory?"

She scoffs. "Of course you can. You just have to want it. I told you the day you showed up you were smart. All you have to do is learn a bit of the new culture and in no time-"

"I'll be out of your hair," he interrupts and finishes for her.

"Rude to interrupt a lady, Malfoy. And I was going to say you could 'rise again' as he suggested. I wish you'd stop with the bitter self-depreciation. It's unbecoming of a wealthy playboy elitist."

He snorts and can't stop the little smile. "I am quite wealthy you know."

"Oh, I'm aware."

The rest of the walk is silent but not awkwardly so. When they reach the Apparition point, Hermione offers her hand and Draco takes it without hesitation. Before she twirls them away she smiles at him and offers, "You did great today."

She doesn't give him time to reply. He smiles and allows himself to silently agree.

 **A/N Apologies for the delay. I've no excuse. Well, I probably have tons of excuses. Work, toddler, pets, business trip... but still sorry for the wait! Thank you to the anonymous reviewers that I can't directly message. You caught me in some embarrassing edits. I'll try to go back and repair when I have time. "Per say" made me kick myself a bit.**

 **Love hearing your thoughts and reviews. Please, if you have a moment, drop another for this chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

"And you must be Draco! I'm so pleased to meet you, dear." Jean Granger offers her hand for Draco to shake which he does, if a little hesitantly.

He's no longer as shocked or disturbed by muggles, having lived amongst them the past few years. However he has had very little physical contact with them and the experience is still a little jarring.

"A pleasure, Mrs. Granger." He takes her hand delicately in his and brushes her fingers with his lips. You can take the boy out of Pureblood high society, but you can't take those high society manners out of the boy.

"Oh please, darling, call me Jean. Mrs. Granger is my mother in law." She lowers her voice and half hides her mouth with her hand, in a mock gesture of secrecy. "And between you and me, she's just not that pleasant."

"Hey now, I heard that." Her husband gives her a chastising look but his expression is full of mirth. He extends his hand to Draco. "Dr. Granger. It's good to meet you Mr. Malfoy."

As he takes the hand and starts to speak, Jean interrupts the interaction. "Don't be ridiculous, David. Draco, call him David. You're a guest in our home; not a patient for God's sake."

"Yes of course. Of course. A pleasure, Draco." Hermione's father drops his grip from Draco's and gestures for him to proceed from the foyer into the sitting room just to the west. "Please have a seat."

The four all take their places; the elder Grangers in strategic locations. David Granger sits in a large fireside of chocolate leather. He faces the room and the entryway, his back to the wall. It's the perfect offensive location. His wife perches on a delicate piece, so fine it is more ornamental than functional. She looks as though she could pounce (literally or metaphorically) at the drop of a pin. Hermione flops comfortably onto one end of their cream upholstered sofa in that way one always can in their childhood home and encourages Draco to take the other end. He is reminded of their Saturday night telly watching as it was in the first few days. Back then he was afraid to so much as re-cross his legs for fear of being too close to her. Under her Father's somewhat scrutinizing gaze, that feeling has returned. He feels like a fifth year 'meeting the parents'. A little disheartening he's not so much as scored a snog for his trouble.

"I hope our Hermione is taking good care of you, son. I understand it must be quite a shock, learning all about modern technology and science." Draco feels he is being talked down to just slightly but loses that train of thought when David rises with a quick lurch and an "oh!" having forgotten something he had intended. "I nearly forgot. I have a bit of a surprise. A little something to take the edge off."

Opening the doors on a liquor cabinet against the wall, David pulls out a bottle of Ogden's Finest and brandishes it toward Draco. "I thought you might be happy to see a little something from 'the old country', as it were."

Indeed, the amber liquid calls to Draco. He only asked for it once, when offered a drink at the Potter's residence. Hermione had suggested he try something muggle. While he will admit, the drink she had made him that evening was unique and, in flavor, superior, there is something that feels like home swirling in that bottle. "Thank you, Mr-David. I appreciate that." He glances over at his flat mate and finds her smiling at him, no doubt thinking this is proceeding swimmingly. He shoots her a wink and a small grin.

There's that cute blush again.

"For you, sweetheart?"

Hermione shakes her gaze from Draco and looks over her shoulder at her Father. "Sure. Just a little though; I drove over here."

He chuckles. "Who taught you to be so responsible?" Walking around the sofa and handing the glasses to his daughter and her companion, he winks at Draco. "Certainly wasn't me!"

Draco laughs a little at that and let's himself relax.

"No it was me, I'm sure," Jean offers with a smile. "But I'm not driving so where's mine?"

Her husband, with a glass just almost to his lips, walks over and hands her the glass instead. "Right here, love." She smirks and takes it.

Jean takes a sip and speaks to the room. "Well then, I should think dinner is probably almost ready." She turns to her daughter. "I hired a caterer tonight. Hope that's ok."

"Why wouldn't it – Mum." She stops with realization. "You didn't."

"They're just so _reasonable_ , darling. And that Beef Wellington they do is divine."

A crack breaks the moment of awkward quiet and an elf wearing what is most likely a doll's dress bows to the room. "Dinner is ready, Masters and Mistresses. If you would follow Kipsy?"

Hermione stands to follow but glares at her Mother. "I thought we talked about this."

Confused, Draco interrupts. "Wait, your parents have a house elf? Can _anyone_ have one?"

Hermione turns her attention from her sheepish parents. "No, it's the catering company. They found a loophole that lets them use house elves instead of employees. House elves are strictly regulated and not approved for commercial use but this _woman_ ," she says with disdain, "uses her own elves at her home based business."

"Oh, honey, Mrs. Grant is a lovely lady-"

"Who is exploiting the system! Enjoy it while you can, because I have every intention of having her shut down. I already have a proposal to reword legislation and a formal complaint about her in front of Magical Creatures regulation."

Jean waves off her daughter's ire and shoos Draco on into the dining room, speaking conspiratorially out the side of her mouth. "She gets so up in arms over her little causes."

"So do you, when they suit you," Hermione shoots back.

Jean offers him an apologetic smile. "She is right of course. I'm afraid my own philanthropy inadvertently led to her SPEW campaign amongst other projects."

"S.P.E.W." Hermione corrects under her breath, as though she has done it so many times she hardly even bothers with volume enough for the room to hear.

Draco is quickly finding this family dynamic a bit uncomfortable, but undeniably entertaining.

The four take their places in the Granger's formal dining room. Nowhere near the opulence of Draco's youth, but he still notes it is a lush and well decorated space. His mother would have approved the overly luxurious window treatments; his father, the dark mahogany wood table. Thinking of his Mother brings the familiar melancholy for a moment.

Two places sit empty which allows Draco to leave one space open on his left. He sits next to Hermione. Jean takes the seat opposite her daughter and David sits at one head of the table, between Hermione and his wife. "So, Draco, what are your plans with the whole world ahead of you? I understand financially you are well positioned. Perhaps you will be entering the world of finance?"

"I…" He looks at Hermione for some clue. What _are_ his plans? Hell if he knows. "I'm not sure at this point, Sir. I have given a little thought to investing in a business. Perhaps starting my own."

Hermione looks up at him. "You were?"

Draco takes a sip from his firewiskey. "Well, yes actually. After we spoke to George Weasley, and you showed me those extendable charm bags I was a bit inspired. I looked a little at some internets-"

" _The_ internet," she interrupts.

" _The_ internet," he repeats with a little scowl. He goes to speak again and she interjects once more.

"Or _some web sites_ is also appropriate."

He simply glowers this time before continuing. "And it seems like potions is a highly under-produced industry for public use. Outside of apothecaries and wizarding communities at least."

"Yes, well, that's because potions are so… sketchy. Normal folks just don't trust that kind of home-brewed balderdash." David takes a long pull from his own whiskey with a challenging glint in his eye.

Draco doesn't back down from a challenge. "See now that's just poor marketing. There's no reason someone shouldn't buy a Dreamless Sleep draught as readily as a…. what was that Hermione?"

"Ambien?"

"Yes. Ambien. Put the liquid in a scientific looking bottle with instructions and warnings and why is it any different? Do muggles know _why_ Ambien works any more than they can explain the draught?"

Hermione starts to speak and Draco cuts her off with a smirk.

"Not you, Brainiac. _Normal_ muggles."

The Grangers laugh at her expense. "He's got you there, pumpkin."

Hermione screws up her mouth in annoyance but the corner twitches upward, telling of mild amusement.

Jean picks up the conversation. "You make a very sound point, dear. Would you start your own manufacturing and distribution or invest in a small potion shop and broaden their reach?"

Draco shrugs at Jean and offers his most charming boy-next-door smile. "Unfortunately I've not planned that far ahead yet. First and foremost I'm working toward reclaiming my magic."

"Ah yes, all that government red tape. Have to have a permit for everything else might as well make it so for magic too. Next thing you know we'll be licensed to breath public air," David grumbles into his glass.

"Wielding magic is a big responsibility. And dangerous." Hermione looks at Draco and queries, "would you like it if any idiot could just go hop in a car and drive around without ever having practiced before?"

"Of course not! But those death machines aren't natural. Magic is natural, Granger. At least it is to me."

"Not to me?" He notices the hurt look on her face before she wipes it clean of emotion in a way that would make any Malfoy proud. He understands immediately she thinks that was a dig at muggleborns.

"No, that was not what I was saying. It's natural for anyone _born_ to it. Like…" he searches for a comparison to prove his point. "Like singing. Or swimming. Or dancing. Some people are just gifted. They can learn to be better, but it's natural to do even when they're young and just learning."

"You can't kill someone by singing."

"Oh, I don't know about that Granger. You know the walls into your shower carry pretty much around the flat."

She blushes five shades deep and the table laughs around her.

XXXXX

Hermione hugs her parents and then follows Draco out the door. He has offered a very polite and sincere thank you for the meal and, especially, the firewhiskey. If Hermione didn't know better, she might just imagine he liked her family. Her normal, muggle family. It makes her smile.

Then she wipes the smile clean as they walk to the car and she slaps his upper arm.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for?"

"You're so insufferable. I do not appreciate being ganged up on in my own childhood home!"

His mouth twitches into a grin. "This is because I made fun of your cooking, isn't it?"

"Amongst other things!" She huffs and plods forward, yanking open the driver's side door. When he gracefully take his seat and buckles in, Hermione gives him a wicked smile. "Just for that, I'm taking the expressway home."

She sees him swallow as she puts the car into gear and smirks in victory.

"I did say you made excellent bacon."

"Yes followed by 'even a broken clock is right on occasion' or something to that effect. Don't worry though. I'll try not to spend the _entire_ way home passing traffic." She watches in her peripherals as Draco reaches up to hold onto the bar above his head and his other hand finds the underside of his seat…his usual position while she drives.

Hermione really does try to take it easy on him, despite what she said. She only changes lanes a couple of times and only when approaching a car that is going under the legal limit. It doesn't seem to relax him but does wonders to alleviate any potential guilt she may have had. When they reach her home, Draco stumbles out of the car as quickly as possible. She has a vision of him kissing the sidewalk and says as much as she walks past him.

"I very nearly could. You're scary in that thing, have I said?"

"I've been called scary, yes. Usually by Ron. Though not necessarily about driving."

"Ah yes. And how is the golden Weasel? I don't believe you've mentioned."

Hermione unlocks the door and steps in. "Didn't honestly think you'd care one way or the other. He's well."

"Married? Litter of little red weasels?"

"No, not married. I'm not sure he's had anything serious since…"

"Since you?"

"Well… yes. He's dated a few girls but nothing seems to stick. I think he still has some faith we're meant to be. Like we'll find our way back if given enough time."

Her charge is thoughtful at that. He uses one foot to toe the shoe off his other foot and then the reverse. "And you?" he finally says.

"I, what?" She pauses and then catches on at his raised brow. "Oh! Do I think we're destined? Merlin, no. I mean I love Ron. Most likely always will a little, at least in theory. But we were just wretched in practice."

Draco rolls his shoulders and flops onto the sofa into his usual spot. "Right then, enough of that. Telly?"

Hermione is standing behind him, looking at the back of his platinum blond head and smiles to herself. She schools her features before circling around the sofa and plopping down beside him, her toes just _almost_ grazing his thigh. One might accuse her of doing it on purpose, but she'd never tell.

"Naturally. Dr. Who is on."

"Who?"

"Exactly."

 **A/N Ok so I've been wretched! I've not posted an update in far too long. Plus I leave for NY in a couple of days for a week so I can't promise a fast update. However I will promise to try to do better at least. Next chapter is started. Intention is to get into magic classes next. A sincere 'thank you' for reviews, follows, and faves thus far. I was terrible about responding directly this last time as well so please accept my apology, LadiePhoenix, Shaliira, Marzipan, tneha, 4fan, LanaLee, HarryPGinny, mega, Irianna, musicangel, and the anonymous guest. It was not for lack of appreciation but simply professional stress sucking the life out of me the past month that I did not respond. After NY life goes back to normal until this time next year. Ah, cyclical industry patterns...**

 **Please don't punish me with lack of reviews!**


	10. Chapter 10

"Rise and shine!" Hermione knocks first but doesn't pause terribly long before pushing into Draco's room. She is considering this pay back for the 'Granger sleeps in the buff' incident on omelet morning. She has found him to be not so much a morning person thus far and delights in waking him with an overtly cheerful tone. "Come on, Draco, the day won't start itself!"

A muffled growl rises from the bed. All she can see is his platinum hair above his sheets, his face buried in the pillow.

"What the fuck does that even mean? And what time is it?!"

"It's just after six."

"Six!?" He rolls over and cracks one eye just enough to glare at her, if one can glare properly with one eye. "Why would you think I want to be up at six?"

She rolls her eyes and grins. "It's your first day of class of course."

"Granger. Class is at ten. So again, why the fuck am I awake at six?" He speaks slowly, as if to a child. His teeth are grit and Hermione is doing her best not to snicker.

In her most serious and placating tone, "Draco I thought you'd be terribly excited. Plus, I was hoping you'd make us breakfast and I wanted to make sure you had plenty of time."

Another growl and Draco is throwing his sheet off, sitting up angrily. "Fine! Merlin, I'm up, woman."

The smile slides from Hermione's face as she realizes the folly to this little plan. She hadn't really considered Draco might sleep unclothed as well. Lesson learned.

He is sitting on the edge of the bed with a sheet barely pooled over his lap, rubbing at his eyes, completely unaware of the blush creeping up her cheeks. A tactical retreat is probably in order. Unfortunately she seems to have short circuited and continues to stare at his bare thighs, chest and toned arms; the old Sectumsempra scar adding an alluring imperfection to his Addonis form.

She's not lucky enough for him to not notice her stare and ends up on the other end of his infuriating smirk. "I thought I'd take a page from your book, Granger. Really is much more comfortable without all that extra fabric."

"I um…," she swallows and shakes her head a little, squeezing her eyes shut. "Sorry. I was just surprised. I'll just leave you to get dressed and… I'll see you out there." She flies from the room as though Voldemort himself was giving chase and slams the door behind her, falling against it on the other side.

Sitting in his bed, Draco stares at the closed door with a wicked grin. Make no mistake, he's annoyed as hell to be awake this time of the morning, but damned if Hermione doesn't get a little more adorable every day. He's not sure how much longer he can go without making some sort of move on the clever little witch.

He rises with a long, slow stretch and stumbles into his en suite. Today, he decides, his tight muggle jeans. She can't possibly be immune to the infamous Malfoy bum. Draco winks at himself in the mirror.

XXXXXX

Hermione spends a great deal of breakfast (and the preparation beforehand) blushing and trying to focus at random inanimate objects all about the room. Draco Malfoy, she has decided is still a super prat. And incorrigible. And snarky. And… and…

He's so Merlin-be-damned frustrating but Christ if he isn't attractive as sin!

She shakes herself out of her own thoughts so many times she fears she may give herself a concussion. Mid-way through her plate of (perfectly made) eggs benedict, she tries for the umpteenth time to start a normal, and hopefully not awkward, conversation.

"I won't usually be able to take you to class but I told Kingsley I'd be a bit late today so I could see you settled."

"I don't have to take that dreadful public muggle contraption but instead you can drive me in _your_ dreadful muggle contraption then? Loads better." He rolls his eyes at her but his smile teases.

"I'm glad you think so," comes her haughty reply, completely ignoring his snark. "You know, anytime you want to learn to drive just say the word. I'm certainly not married to the idea of chauffeuring you around for the next year."

"Only the year? I thought maybe I could keep you on. You could be my official Girl Friday. We can work out the salary and… other benefits." He winks and Hermione goes crimson.

"I- you are such a dick."

He laughs with genuine mirth and she can't help but chuckle in turn.

"I'm sure you have some muggleborn servant fantasy to fulfill but I'm not interested in being your driver or otherwise in your employ." She grins and points to him with her empty fork. "Now, if you want to come over and watch Dr. Who I'm sure we can work out something with you making dinner and me providing the telly." Hermione picks up a final bite of egg on her fork and casually takes the bite, as if this wasn't a big deal. As though this was not uncharacteristically forward to suggest they remain friends once her assignment ends.

A beat of silence makes her heart pound in her ears and she imagines she may have just crossed some unspoken line. Imagine what he must think: Hermione Granger, mudblood extraordinaire, suggesting they are more than forced flat mates.

"…I think we could work out a deal in that regard." A pause and the usual tease returns to his suddenly serious tone. "Of course you have to give me floo access. I'll not be left fending for myself on muggle freeways just to make _you_ dinner."

"I don't use my floo much," is all she can think to say.

"Well we will have to change that I suppose. When I'm back on top, Granger, I'm reclaiming my wizarding heritage one unused floo at a time."

"I don't see how _my_ floo usage relates to _your_ heritage."

"Easy. All the witches and wizards in my life have to show some pride in where they come from. So get used to it, Hermione. And another thing," he stands and collects both of their empty plates, "clean these with a Charm this time would you? The odor comes out much more thoroughly than the muggle way." He drops the plates by the sink and turns to leave. "I'll just grab my coat and meet you at the car in a moment alright?"

She barely whispers an "ok" as he leaves and sits dumbfounded for a moment.

Draco Malfoy just agreed to be a part of her life.

And beyond that, perhaps even more surprising, he implied that she is every bit as much a part of the wizarding world as he is. It is _her_ heritage too.

Hermione smiles and feels her eyes prick with bit of wetness that she wipes away. Such a seemingly petty and irrelevant conversation… he can't possibly know how much it means.

XXXXX

"I'll see you back here at six. I'm leaving the ministry at five thirty so it won't be a problem. Do you have your identification? And some muggle money in case they need you to pick up books or anything? Oh and for lunch. We should have made a check list. I just let the day get away from us yesterday. And if you need me just call me. Or send a text. Do you remember how?"

She blabbering and it's cute as fuck and then Hermione reaches up to brush something off Draco's shoulder and all he can do is smile. He probably looks absolutely gormless, grinning at her with affection and bemusement. She doesn't seem to notice, or misreads his look at least, and instead huffs and stomps her foot.

"Are you listening? I know you're thinking I'm being silly but this is important! It's your first day amongst muggles on your own."

His grin broadens. That wasn't what he'd been thinking at all. "Are you worried about me, Granger," he teases.

"I- Of course not! I just… forget it. You're fine. It's fine. I'll see you at six." She screws up her mouth in frustration and turns to get back into her car.

"Hermione."

"What?"

"Thanks. Really. You take good care of me."

Slowly, one corner of her mouth quirks into a lopsided smile before she says, "You're welcome, Draco." With a quick wave she climbs back into her car and he watches her speed away.

Even from the sidewalk her driving looks scary as hell.

It takes very little time for Draco to get his bearings and saunter into the appropriate room for his first class. He chose to sign up for Charms and Potions. He had pushed hard trying to fit in Apparition but Hermione was adamant that with the restrictions on apparition locations, he was better off learning to drive and using the floo network when applicable, for now anyway. After whining in a most unbecoming fashion, he had conceded that two classes, each lasting three hours daily, was probably enough for a single term.

She really is a bright witch after all. Maybe he should give her opinions a little credit on occasion. She just has so blasted many of them. He could almost start feeling a little empathy for what Weasley must have gone through trying to keep up with her.

 _Well, let's not go_ that _far._

Draco walks into a mostly empty classroom and walks down the center aisle toward the back row. Unlike the tables at Hogwarts, each seat is attached to a small desk top on one arm, barely enough room to lay out a book. Draco thinks it looks terribly inefficient but makes a mental decision to not to criticize everything muggle. Some things obviously… just not everything.

Seated at the front of the room, is a man, probably a few years younger than Draco. He stares out the window, just to his left, his head supported by this hand. At the back left, he finds an older woman with mousy brown hair, obviously enchanted not to grey, and a rather unappealing pink sweater. She smiles kindly when she looks up and catches his gaze before looking back to the dog-eared paperback in her hand. After he is seated, Draco watches the rest of the class, about 8 more witches and wizards in total, wander in and take seats as far as each other as possible. Three or four seem to linger a moment when they catch sight of his platinum hair and signature Malfoy features. He doesn't recognize them in return, but the infamously evil are always more recognizable than the run of the mill 'good guys'.

"Good afternoon, class." Draco is looking down when the instructor walks in the room but glances up at the familiar voice. "I'm Ms. Clearwater and I'll be your Charms instructor."

 _Perfect._

Sinking lower into his uncomfortably chair, Draco prays the first lesson they learn will be some variation of the Notice Me Not charm.

"This is the advanced version of Charms. Pre-requisite being childhood or young adult instruction in the subject. We will refresh usage of course for those of you that have been without your Charms license for an extended period." Draco couldn't possibly have imagined the lingering look Penelope gives him as she says that. "But mostly we will focus on the rules and laws of public and private casting. This is a ten week course so we don't waste time. Let's start with what you know."

She leans casually against the large desk at the front of the room and crosses her ankles. "Who can name a limit on Lumos in public space?" Eight hands raise but Draco isn't one of them. He thinks this will be a long two and a half months.

XXXXXX

"So how is King Death Eater today?"

Hermione offers a small laugh though truthfully she is offended on Draco's behalf. It's only been a few weeks since she opened her home to the pureblood prince, but she is finding a protective stance when it comes to her new…friend? After their exchange over breakfast, she feels more confident in the title.

"He's actually doing fairly well. Though it's been pretty easy so far. We stay in a lot and when we go out I sort of take point. Now that he has to start interacting without me as a buffer it will be harder."

Seamus Finnigan chews his lunch thoughtfully, sitting across the desk from Hermione in her modest office. They share their breaks often, being the only Hogwarts alum in their department. Always in _her_ office specifically as Seamus tends to keep his desk, as his lunch partner would tell you, 'something akin to which even swine couldn't abide'.

"So what's his next step then?"

"Usage permits. He started class today. Malfoy needs use of his wand again. His sense of withdrawal will make everything more difficult for him."

Seamus scoffs. "Do you really think he's going to be able to adapt?"

She eyes her salad and picks through it as though on a treasure hunt for pine nuts. "I think…I think he can. He's smart as a whip and financially has no obstacles. He's really incredibly fortunate."

"I'm not sure why you volunteered for this, 'Mione. Does he ever… call you names or anything? I swear I'll hex the cunt."

"Seamus," she admonishes with a scowl. "He's my charge so no hexing. And no actually he hasn't said anything. I mean he's moody and snarky sometimes, but I think that's just innately _him_."

"Let me take you to dinner tonight. Take a break from the great arse."

Hermione tenses a little but tries for a kind smile. "That's sweet but I shouldn't leave him alone that long." This is not the first dinner invitation she has turned down and she would bet a Malfoy's ransom it will not be the last. Seamus is a friend. The pair has grown close over the years, working together on many cases.

Unfortunately it seems Seamus would like them to be quite a bit closer, in a much less platonic way, and she's just not into him.

"Maybe it would do him some good. Make him start fending for himself. Like you said, he has to be able to get on without you."

She is rescued from his continued pressure by her muggle counterpart rapping lightly on her open door.

"Ms. Granger?"

"Hi, Dave. Come in. Have you had lunch? I _way_ over ordered."

"I've had but thanks. I just wanted your copy of the Johnson case file."

"Oh sure." She wipes her hands absentmindedly on her trousers and opens a drawer to her right. "Let's see… H..I..J…Johnson. Here it is." She smiles and hands it over.

He tips an imaginary hat and offers his thanks before heading for the door. He stops when he has almost crossed the threshold.

"Oh I almost forgot. Your Rehabilitation case. There's been a petition to move him. Seems a magic family wants to house him. Greengrass I think. I'll shoot over an e-mail with the particulars. Nothing official as of now but you may be rid of your flatmate yet." He grins like he just handed her a gift and continues on his way.

Hermione sits back in her chair and stares after him, a little stunned.

"Huh. Well that's one way to get him out of your hair." Seamus shoves a corner of his sandwich in his mouth and hums in contentment. Hermione doesn't eat another bite.

After another twenty minutes, Seamus finally takes his leave and she glances down at her phone to find a series of texts from Draco.

 **Charms done. Clearwater teaching**

 **Lunch then potions**

 **Lets celebrate tonight. My treat**

After much deliberation she types back a simple

 **Sounds great**

She knows she has to tell him about the Greengrass proposal. The sinking feeling in her core is unwelcome and she pushes it aside. Not tonight.

Tonight they celebrate.


	11. Chapter 11

"To me!" Draco raises his glass of 2002 Perrier Jouet Blanc de Blanc and tips it toward his dining companion.

Hermione smirks and clinks her glass lightly against his. "Isn't that poor etiquette? To toast to yourself?"

"Absolutely dreadful. You should really do it for me." He indicates toward her with his glass. "When you're ready," he prompts.

Her expression broadens to a smile and Hermione straightens in her chair, clearing her throat. "To your first day of muggle required classes, and the many, _many_ more to come."

He mock frowns at her. "That's not quite the same you know."

"Oh, I know," she says airily. She takes an appreciative drink before picking up the bottle to inspect it. "This is delightful."

"It is. I did, by the way, notice that when it's _my_ treat, we open with Champagne and escargot and when _you_ treat it's curry take away and Guinness in your flat." He raises an eyebrow, bemused.

Hermione snickers a little over the rim of her glass. "Well that is an interesting observation, Mr. Malfoy." She sets the glass down and leans forward. "But as I recall I just said we should toast. _You_ picked the bottle."

"Well we can't very well toast with that peasant swill at the _top_ of the wine list now can we?"

"Anyway, you like curry," she goes on. "And Guinness. And, if I might be so bold, my flat suits your needs just fine."

"Well the curry is a guilty pleasure really; the Guinness is drinkable. As for the flat… your sofa is serviceable I suppose."

"Not nice, Malfoy. I take care of you, or have you forgotten?"

"Never." His serious tone takes Hermione by surprise a little, shattering the teasing nature of their banter and making her face feel warm. For a moment he holds her gaze before she looks back down to the table and reaches for her glass.

A short silence where they both take a drink is interrupted by their server offering to refill their glasses to which they both agree. Hermione allows her gaze to follow the man as he leaves their table. Sweeping her eyes over the posh atmosphere of the restaurant, she is impressed all over again by the opulence of the dining room. Lacking any other way to break the silence, she says simply, "thank you for bringing me here."

"It's my pleasure. Though I don't know if it's considered 'bringing' if you picked the place."

She shakes her head. "First off, you gave me search parameters. All I did was find a list online and narrow it down. Second, you're paying." She winks and is rewarded with his most charming grin.

"Well then… you're welcome, Granger. I'm glad you approve of my refined pureblood taste."

"Oh please. Pureblood has nothing to do with it. _Wealthy_ taste more like. And of course I approve are you insane?! Look at this place." She glances around once more with a little awe and sees Draco make a quick sweep of his head.

"Beautiful," he seems to agree, but he's no longer looking anywhere but her.

XXXX

Through each course, the next more delectable than the one that proceeds it, Draco continues to bounce between his usual banter, to adoring flirtation. He's not entirely sure Hermione picks up on it. Which is absolutely infuriating if you ask him. Brightest witch? What does a bloke have to say?!

"Should we order another bottle?"

"Don't you think that's a little excessive?"

"No such thing, love. Not when a Malfoy is celebrating."

Hermione laughs and Draco soaks in the sound like sunlight. He's definitely seen her loosen up as the bottle level went down. Her constant need to hold him at arm's length, to prove how professional she is by keeping her distance, doesn't seem to be a priority as the night wears on.

"How about this then: It's Monday and you have class tomorrow and I'm due to the office at eight." She raises an eyebrow, challenging him to object.

"I find I can't argue with your golden girl logic. Another night perhaps?"

He sees her start but cover it by looking away and dabbing her mouth with her napkin. Did he finally break through a little with a simple comment of a repeat "date"? "Perhaps we could."

He grins at the perceived victory but doesn't dwell on it. "Can you apparate or should we hire one of those muggle public vehicles?"

"A taxi? I think that would be for the best."

"I agree. Very responsible. One more drink then? A digestif. How else to end a meal like this?"

"You're a terrible influence, Draco Malfoy."

"I'm harmless as a puppy, princess. One drink then we'll hang it up for the night. Wizard's honor."

Hermione seems to eye him distrustfully before she grins in a lopsided way and indicates that he go ahead. Of course he was going to anyway.

A glass of port each later, Draco is true to his word and, after asking the server to be so kind as to order them a car, stands and offers his hand to his companion so they might retire. Walking to her side and just behind, he leads her with his hand ghosting the small of her back. He'd like to imagine he saw her shiver when he touched the bare skin above her low-backed dress.

"I feel like I received the better end of this deal."

"How's that?"

"Well, we were supposed to celebrate your progress but instead I was wined and dined as though it were my own little party."

Draco is allowing her use of his hand as she lowers herself to get into the black car parked at the valet. "Since I wouldn't even be here without you, let's say that this was a 'thank you' as much as a celebration."

She slides the rest of the way inside, careful to catch the end of her skirt from being caught in the door. Draco closes it gently and strides around to the other side. The driver is waiting, holding his door open, and Draco nods to him before sliding in next to his witch.

 _His witch_.

Draco thinks that sounds lovely. Perhaps the champagne is making him uncharacteristically optimistic.

"So you never did say…"

He glances over at Hermione, who is leaned toward him in the inconveniently spacious back seat. "What have I not said?" He grins. "Are you digging for a compliment, Granger? The dress is lovely. I quite like the… neckline," he leers playfully.

Hermione swats him but doesn't move away. If anything she leans a little closer, disguising the movement as part of her playful slap as she grins. "No! I was going to ask about class. Was Penelope kind to you?"

 _Well, there's a mood killer_.

"Ah yes, the Clearwater witch. A couple of lingering, suspicious looks. Nothing fatal. She's probably as uncomfortable having me there as I am with her as an instructor."

"As long as she behaves professionally. And if not, tell me."

Leaning a little closer himself, he asks, "Will you come to my rescue, Hermione?"

"I…" she looks over at him, her eyes darting so quickly to his lips he may have missed it. Or imagined it. "Of course. I take care of you right?"

"That you do."

They ride in silence, Draco's mind whirling nearly out of control, leaning as far as he dares until his shoulder almost brushes hers. She can most likely hear his heartbeat and the thought makes him nervous and self-conscious.

When they have nearly reached home, he feels her lean against his arm and her curls brush his cheek and he suddenly can't breathe.

"Hermione…" he says her name softly, a prayer for salvation. She gives no reply but he carefully slides his arm around her, cupping her shoulder to draw her close. "I could thank you a thousand times and it wouldn't be enough you know. Never enough."

Her reply is disappointing in that it is an unintelligible murmur and Draco knows she's asleep. He chuckles at himself a little. Ironic that the drink that brought him bravery, likewise incapacitated his reason to need that courage.

With a resigned sigh, Draco turns and presses his lips to her curls, kissing her head gently.

 **A/N**

 **(Looks around a corner sheepishly)... hello. (waves) Bet you thought I was gone forever, yes?**

 **This is the part where I present myself with my arms out in a sort of "tah dah!" while you, whatever loyal readers might be left, glare at me unimpressed.**

 **So this little chapter was half written back in October when I was still updating at least semi regularly. Then I got pregnant. Oh it's not an excuse, not really. Just a reason. I've no excuse for such a ridiculous delay (read abandonment) of this poor story. Just suffice it to say that I have a strong dislike for being pregnant and the general feeling of having a chronic illness (or a parasite if you prefer) did nothing for my muse. Love the baby, hated the pregnant. There were other real life aspects that slowed up my writing but honestly that was the big one.**

 **Then my muse, don't even get me started on her. She gave me doubts; made me second-guess this piece all together. As is, I'm not entirely sure how I will wrap this up but at the very least, I am interested in trying. Not to mention I've had these other two little plot bunnies bouncing around. I have 12 chapters of one and about 6 of another but I've learned my lesson. I might start posting one of those soon but not until I feel more confident. I never want to leave a WIP unfinished for this long again.**

 **I've been around of course. Reading and reviewing and signing up to tmbler just to follow other writers. The affect is double-edged. I'm inspired but also humbled by the dramione in the works on this site.**

 **So, not because I deserve it, but out of the kindness of your hearts, I'd love reviews. Questions or comments or even just "I'm still here" would make my day!**


	12. Chapter 12

_"It was a veritable who's who of Britain today as the country celebrated yet another anniversary of the end of the Great Wizarding War that has so changed our world and our culture. Not since the rise of the information age has something so profound shaped the way we live."_

The image on the telly changes scenes to the same reporter, now off camera, thrusting a mic into the face of an elegantly dressed Maggie Smith. _"And did you choose to invest in magical charms for the festivities?"_

Dame Maggie smiles and nods, _"Of course. It wouldn't feel right not to indulge a little today of all days."_ She twists her neck to show off her hair style and laughs, _"you think all of this is naturally mine? Bless my Magitician but she is a wonder!"_

The scene changes again to first the reporter and then to a line of disgruntled looking citizens standing along a bustling street with various badly made signs and yelling toward the camera. _"The only damper to the festive spirit is an increased activity amongst the anti-Magic crowd. As you can see on the streets behind me, the protestors have come out in some of the largest numbers we've seen and they are not happy."_

 _"It's a disgrace it is. Normal people encouraging these heathens and devils... it's an affront to decent people I tell you."_

The scene has changed once again to the reporter holding an interview with a middle aged man wearing a faded plaid shirt and holding a sign that, barely legibly, reads _"You shall not permit a sorceress to live - Exodus 22:18"._

"Charming."

Hermione is startled when she hears Draco's drawl from behind her and quickly changes the television to something she hopes is less hateful.

"I don't know why you do that," he comments as he walks around her to plop down on her other side. "It's not like you can hide the world from me now that I live in it."

"I'm sorry. It's just a really ugly side of people. I want you to be comfortable, and this type of thing...," she gestures vaguely to the screen and trails off, "it just doesn't help anything."

"I'll say at least I know how it must have felt to be you when Umbridge was denouncing muggleborns."

She looks thoughtful a moment and then nods in agreement. "Yes I suppose so."

She turns back to the screen and they watch in silence to see what she has landed on when it becomes obvious she has jumped from one political commentary to another.

An American is hosting a panel of commentators and they are also discussing the topic at hand.

 _"The Supreme Court announced today,"_ the smarmy host reads from his prompt, _"that all magical citizens will be granted the same marriage rights as any other American. They go on in a statement that quote 'there is no discernible difference between magic and non-magic individuals in the case of biology or the human condition'."_

An incredibly thin blond woman with harsh features scoffs and jumps in. _"Well of course they did. There is a general liberal lean to the court and they are too afraid to do what needs to be done to keep our country safe."_

 _"Safe? Safe from what precisely,"_ a heavy-set man with dark framed glasses and a northern American accent bites back at her. _"From men and women falling in love and wanting to be married and have children-"_

 _"_ Children," she interrupts, _"with potentially dangerous and uncontrolled power. Do we really want this genetic anomaly to go unchecked? To continue to permeate the general populace?"_

 _"Wait, wait, wait... genetic anomaly?"_ The host asks her. _"They're_ people _, Ann."_

 _"So was Hitler but I'm pretty happy he didn't have children,"_ she quips.

The crowd boos and the third panel individual talks over it, _"I can't believe you are going to draw a Hitler parallel with people who just happen to be born a little different from us. That's dangerous territory."_ She is a dark skinned woman with short hair and a thoughtful expression.

The blond "Ann" rolls her eyes and looks back to the host. _"Let's just look at this for what it is. Honestly. You can say these are average people but the reality is these so called people are capable of doing a lot of damage."_

 _"So called people?"_ the host responds with what seems to be his trademark incredulity.

Simultaneously, the heavy set gentleman loudly says, _"_ I'm _capable of doing a lot of damage in the right circumstances. Anyone is."_

 _"And how do you recommend we would even enforce something to 'keep them in check'?"_ the host goes on, using his fingers to create air quotes and leaning forward in his chair. _"A registration? Hospital genetic tests turned into skin brands? Tattoo a number on their arm?."_

 _"Of course not. But I don't think it's too much to expect citizens to look out for one another. To report abnormal activity-"_

 _"McCarthyism?! That's your answer? Why stop there? Let's just go one hundred percent 'Big Brother' and install cameras in their homes. See if we can go all the way 1984 on ourselves."_ The crowd laughs at the sarcasm of the host and even the thoughtful dark skinned woman chuckles at the blonde's expense.

 _"You're drawing a false slippery slope and you know it, Bill. There's nothing wrong with asking for a little personal responsibility-"_

 _"Personal- what's wrong with you?"_ The host continues in a mocking tone, drawing out words for comedic affect and holding a hand to his ear to mimic using a telephone. _"Yes I'd like to report my cousin's neighbor has blue hair... is it_ dyed _?... Well I can't be sure but it could_ certainly _be magic. What if he fireballs my cousin's house?!..."_

The dark skinned woman cuts in, seeming to want to distract before the banter devolves into childish quips, _"There is a question here of equal treatment under the law. Once we start making divisions it becomes too easy to never stop."_

The host nods, _"I agree, that seems the obvious concern. How can we, as a nation, draw these lines in the sand and not learn from our own history. It will be like Jim Crow but... with some other magical bird metaphor that currently escapes me. A… phoenix or something. David Phoenix laws."_ He chuckles and the audience titters in response. " _David like David Copperfield,"_ he mutters to the audience to clarify what he must think was a clever turn of phrase.

 _"The difference though,"_ the blonde goes on, undeterred despite obviously holding an unpopular view with this audience, _"is that these are people who are not just different in an abstract way. They are literally dangerous-"_

 _"No,"_ the host interrupts, _"they are_ potentially _dangerous. As the Cogressman just pointed out, all people are potentially dangerous."_

 _"Yes but not inherently,"_ she bites back.

 _"Why is magic inherently anything? Why isn't it just a talent? Like really good hand eye coordination. That could make you a sharp shooting assassin as easily as really good at basketball."_

"It seems like you were right."

Hermione hits the mute button on her remote and looks at Draco in question. "About?"

"Things are better. Even muggles," he gestures to the screen, "even wealthy, famous muggles like that are on our side."

Hermione chews her lip and says carefully, "Well that particular program shows a certain point of view. I want you to feel secure but never doubt there are forces against us too. That woman on there," she gestures to the blonde who is muted but still obviously talking passionately on the topic, "there are people that agree with her too."

He thinks for a moment and then mutters with a small grin, "constant vigilance?"

She is tricked into a laugh and she swats his arm playfully. "Something like that."

Hermione starts to turn the sound back on the television but then Draco surprises her by asking very seriously, "you don't think they would really do anything though right? Like change the laws so we can't marry or something?"

A little niggling feeling of guilt wells up and Hermione is reminded she has not mentioned the Greengrass petition, knowing it is most likely the family's first attempts at a betrothal. But to mention it now? Well that just seems too obvious, or so she tells herself. She doesn't want to give the impression he should be concerned after all.

Instead she shakes her head and says, "I don't believe so. At least not in Britain or the majority of progressive countries. There are places in this world I wouldn't want to live. But then again, I probably wouldn't want to live there as a woman as much as because I'm a witch."

Hermione turns the volume back up but the panel seems to have moved on to a discussion about an earthquake in Pakistan and UN efforts to help rebuild. Inevitably the panel begins to argue about using wizards and witches to assist in the efforts but Hermione is a little lost in thought and misses the majority of it, wondering instead if she is being unfair, not telling Draco about the petition.

Of course there is every possibility the request will be denied. The Greengrass patriarch is already having difficulty proving unequivocally that he had no ties to Death Eaters. Any family with war loyalty in question is denied the position of host. But if he is able to shake off the doubts from her department? Well, she supposes she will cross that bridge when and if that happens.

"Potter phoned earlier."

She looks at him in question and he continues, "Wondered if we wanted to have dinner Sunday night. I told him it was up to you."

"Well, we don't have any other plans. Is it… do you mind going?" She asks hesitantly, knowing Harry has never been Draco's favorite person. Though their last dinner with Harry and Ginny had gone swimmingly.

He shrugs and says, "It's fine." Then he smirks at her in that adorable way he has and finishes, "You'll just have to owe me one."

Rolling her eyes, she allows her own answering smile. "I already owe you for dinner Monday night. Looks like I'm amassing quite a debt."

His grin broadens and he looks as though he might say something but stops. He schools his expression a little but the mirth is still present in his voice when he settles on, "I'll hold you to that."

Draco rises from the sofa. "Well then, I'm headed to bed. What if tomorrow we go out for breakfast? No work, no class…"

She nods. "I suppose if you're feeling too lazy to cook…," she teases.

He heads down the hallway and says loudly over his shoulder, "Since you owe me, you can treat. I'll take it off your tab."

Hermione smiles at his retreating back and stifles a girlish giggle at his flirtatious tone. It's easy, far too easy, to fall for someone like Draco Malfoy.

XXXXXXXXXX

Draco wakes slowly on Saturday morning and glances to the clock by his bedside. Seven in the morning is early for a weekend but he's finding his early class schedule is creating new sleeping habits. He stretches then swings his legs over to hit the floor, the carpet sinking between his toes. The everyday luxuries of life are still a welcome change from the way he was living only weeks before.

After a quick visit to the loo and brushing his teeth, Draco ventures into the hallway and then approaches Hermione's bedroom door. He knocks softly as not to startle her. "Hermione?"

Her answer comes from behind him in the direction of the kitchen. "You're up early."

He turns to find her peering from around the corner and notices she has an apron tied around her waist. It's a bit adorable but leaves him confused. "I thought you were taking me out for breakfast."

She blushes and grins. "I felt a little bad. You cook all the time and I never do. Thought this would be a nice surprise."

He grins back and makes his way down the hall. "You cheap witch. You didn't want to buy me breakfast," he accuses.

"Some of us aren't made of money you know. We have to give gifts from the heart." She flutters her lashes mockingly and then laughs, not knowing how close to his own hopes she's hitting.

Draco drops down at the breakfast table and watches as his host turns bacon over in a skillet while flipping her wand toward a carton of orange juice so that it pours itself into two matching glasses.

"I called Harry. Told him yes for tomorrow night."

He rolls his eyes in response and quips, "Can't wait," resting his chin on his hand.

Hermione giggles a little a she pulls the bacon from the pan and onto plates that are already half full of scrambled eggs. She carries the plates over and sits down next to Draco. Flicking her wand to the juice, it levitates and settles in front of each of them.

"I also asked if it would be alright if we had some…extra guests."

"Oh?" He quirks his eyebrow in question.

"I hope you don't mind," she begins, "but I thought it would be nice to expand your social circle a little."

Draco feels his heart stop and his eyes go wide. "Please for the love of Merlin tell me you didn't invite the Weasel."

Hermione glowers a little. "Be nice. And no, not Ron. He's in America working on one of George's expansion locations. No I invited Luna and her boyfriend."

"Looney Lovegood? That's how you think I want to expand my circle?"

She frowns even deeper. "You should give her a chance. Anyway, I didn't tell you who her new boyfriend is."

"This should be good." Draco feels himself falling into his old sneer and is helpless to stop it. He doesn't actually have any animosity toward the Lovegood girl. What he has is guilt, and plenty of it. He can't imagine who else is about to be thrown in his face. Longbottom perhaps? _There's_ someone he bullied mercilessly. "Let me guess, some other insufferable Gryffindor?"

"I'm sorry our company is so difficult to stomach." She shoves a forkful of egg in her mouth and very pointedly looks away from him.

Immediately he feels his stomach plummet at her expression but the guilt turned anger is a tempting mistress and he is seduced into lashing out further. "It's bad enough you drag me to deal with Potter and his ginger pet but now-"

"Enough!" She slams her fork down and pushes away from the table. "If it's so difficult for you to play nice for an evening, to be a human being in exchange for a support network when you otherwise have _none_ , then I will happily decline on your behalf."

He watches her drop her plate by the sink.

"Great. Then we can just stay in and-"

"Oh no, no." She turns back around, her hair swinging about her face. " _I'm_ still going. I won't put my life on hold for you if you won't even attempt to be a part of it."

She stalks across the room and is half out the door when she turns back with a sneer that could make him proud and announces. "By the way, if I cook, _you_ clean."

"Well…" He looks around the room and notices her awful cat staring at him, sitting on his haunches by his food dish. "What are you looking at? Mangy little-"

A growl cuts him off and he watches the cat sashay out the door in his owner's footsteps. "Just great."

XXXXXXX

Hermione steadfastly ignores Draco for the day, much to his annoyance. He tries on more than one occasion to start a conversation only to be met with stony silence.

He corners her finally in her study, literally trapping her behind her desk by blocking her path.

"I'm sorry." He figures if he just cuts to the chase she has to hear him out. But if he thought this would be easy, well you know what they say about another think coming…

"You don't even know what you're apologizing for."

"I don't?… that's ridiculous. Of course I know. I'm apologizing for being an arse."

"You can't just- you know what nevermind. That's fine. Apology accepted." She goes to shoulder past him and he steps over to block her more thoroughly.

"Funny, that didn't sound like acceptance."

Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. "I can't make you someone you're not and it's not my job to try. I can't make you let go of old prejudice. I thought maybe, since we were getting along so well you might give someone else a chance. Plus I thought you would be happy to see an old friend."

Draco stiffens. "Old friend? Is that your idea of a joke? You know, I acted like an arse but you're being incredibly insensitive."

"Insensitive? For trying to help you connect with people our age? For giving you a life outside of a jail cell and this flat?"

"For throwing Luna Lovegood at me without thinking how it might make me feel!"

There it is, spat out into the small room and leaving Draco heaving his breath and squinting his eyes closed.

"Are you… do you have history with Luna?"

"What the fuck, Granger, of course I do! She spent weeks in my family's fucking dungeon."

"Oh. Oh! Merlin, Draco, I'm so sorry I didn't even think... I thought maybe you had, you know, _history_ … or something."

"History? What like I fucked her?"

Hermione winces and Draco redirects. "You think I was avoiding her because we had some kind of relationship? Come on, Granger, you're known to be clever. How could you forget?"

"It's just… I mean you didn't seem to have a problem being here with me. I know I wasn't kept in the dungeons but… I mean there was…"

"You think that wasn't hard for me? You think I didn't struggle to look you in the eyes when I got here?"

She shrugs and looks past his shoulder. "You just didn't seem to think about it much I guess."

Draco places his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Granger, I tried to tell you I was sorry. I know I didn't do a great job of it. You've just…"

He sighs and much to her surprise, not to mention his own, he leans his forehead against hers. "You make it easy not to think about. You're… you're fucking _kind_ and I just don't think about who I was. Here, with you, I'm just Draco. Narcissa's son, wealthy wizard, and you're a pretty witch who's nice to me. It's not fair, I know. I shouldn't… I don't get to have it that simple."

"Draco…"

He opens his eyes when her hands cradle his cheeks. He's self-conscious of the stubble having not taken the time to groom properly during the day, instead spending the day trying to work up the courage for their current conversation.

"Draco it's _not_ simple if it eats at you. It can be but not if you can't be in the same room as anyone else."

She drops her hands from his face and rests them against his chest lightly. Draco feels his breath quicken. But the resolve he sees on her face isn't full of lust and affection as much as determination and it squeezes his heart with disappointment.

"I'll let you in on a secret: I like having you here. You're a surprisingly enjoyable roommate."

"Wow… thanks, Granger. High praise."

She smirks and swats his chest but rests her palm back on him afterwards. "What I was going to say is, I like having you here, but I want more for you. You need to join the world. Not just my flat."

He nods, knowing she's right but decides to voice his concern with honesty. "What if Luna is not so kind. You're a special case, you know? I can't believe how open you are. Of course it works in my favour… You might be a bit daft, if I'm honest."

"Daft? You've met Luna right?" she deadpans and suddenly they both laugh and they're alright again.

Hermione drops her hands and walks back to perch against her desk. "You never let me tell you who she's dating, you know. _That's_ the old friend I meant."

Draco groans but it has a good natured tone. He gestures with his palm up and a "come hither" pulse of his fingers. "Go on then. What special torture do you have lined up for me?"

Her lips press together in a grin that pops her dimples and makes his heart flutter. "She's been seeing Blaise Zabini."

"I… wait what? Zabini? I thought he disappeared to Italy."

"He did. Luna travels abroad a lot. Gives talks on magical creatures no one can prove exist. She found a great audience amongst muggles honestly. To them, wrackspurts are no more impossible than unicorns so they eat it up. She was in Italy last month and apparently he showed up at her event, hoping to reconnect with his British roots."

Draco shakes his head at the new information but suddenly dinner with the Potters doesn't sound too bad. And if Luna can look past Zabini's questionable loyalties enough to bed him, surely she can forgive Draco Malfoy enough to simply share a meal on neutral ground.

"You didn't decline my invitation yet did you?"

Hermione laughs. "Of course not. You didn't actually think I was going to leave you here alone did you?"

She winks and Draco could kiss her. Not today, but suddenly it doesn't seem so impossible to imagine.

Soon.

...

 **A/N: So I probably shouldn't have posted this but I've made everyone wait a long time on this story in general. I wrote most of this today. Usually I sit on a chapter and edit to death but I'm taking a chance and putting it up now. I apologize for typos as it is likely there might be some. I have 2 more chapters written but they aren't quite next. I have to fill in the blanks but I'll try to get on it quickly!**

 **Also, I posted a quick 5 part little story called Love Is Foolish if you, dear reader, are interested. I also have about 10 chapters of a potential longer piece so if you enjoy my writing in general, give me a quick follow and be on the look out for that. It mostly takes place in Draco's dreams during 6th year but will divert from canon. If that sounds interesting, I'd love to hear from you. I'm a frail flower; I need encouragement ::shameless pandering for reviews::**

 **I want to thank everyone who reviewed this and my other pieces recently. I tried to respond to each one but had an error with the most recent. So Capecodcanal I just want to say thank you for reading this and my little companion one-shot. Thanks also to Olivieblake for catching up on this story and leaving very encouraging reviews on each chapter.**

 **I also appreciate the follows and favorites that have come in. Each one is a thrill when I see it hit my inbox.**


	13. Chapter 13

It's slightly less nerve wracking this time, walking up to Potter's door. Draco has a sense of familiarity that is doing wonders for his disposition. When Harry's fiery wife answers and offers him a drink, he jumps right in like they are old friends.

"It depends. Are you making it, or can we rope Granger into playing barkeep?"

Ginny Potter laughs easily. "Oh, Hermione, definitely. You don't mind do you?" She looks to her friend and gives her the fakest pleading eyes Draco has ever seen.

Hermione allows a lopsided grin and rolls her eyes. "When have I ever declined?" She makes her way to the bar just like she did on their last visit and begins to take stock of her options. "What about... Moscow Mules?"

Ginny shrugs in polite agreement. "You're making; you choose. Good with you, Malfoy?"

He snorts in response. "As if I know what any of those muggle concoctions are. I'm working on pure faith here, Red."

"Moscow Mules it is." Hermione pulls out a pitcher and a set of what looks to Draco liked hammered copper coffee mugs.

"Oh good, you're here." Harry enters the room, fiddling with a button on his cuff.

"I bet you never thought you'd say that to me, eh Potter?"

"I was definitely talking to Hermione. Your invitation is tied completely to her you know."

"Are we the first to arrive?" Hermione address Harry as she carefully pours a precise amount of ginger beer into her slowly filling pitcher.

"Yes. Luna phoned to say they were running a bit late. Said Zabini was having issues with his tie."

Draco snickers at that and the other three look his way. "Just so you know, that's Blaise code for he's trying to get in her knickers before they leave."

"I did not need to know that, Malfoy." Potter looks a bit disturbed and approaches Hermione, reaching for one of the copper mugs she has just filled.

She slaps his hand away. "Nuh uh. You know you can't have it until I garnish."

"Merlin, 'Mione, I don't need the mint sprig or whatever the hell."

"You want me to play tavern wench you're going to wait until I'm done, Harry Potter. Understood?" All the while, she is continuing to work on the six perfect mugs, never skipping a beat.

"Yes ma'am."

"So the bossiness," Draco begins, "that doesn't go away then? I mean after years of friendship and that's still her default tone with you?"

Hermione glares his way and he gives her an innocent smile. "Just making sure I'm prepared for our future interactions."

"You'll be lucky to have a future," she mumbles back and he grins like a cat. He's still buzzing from their moment after his apology. They'd been so close. Physically but also he'd felt a connection with her that trumped any previous.

A knock interrupts any retort he might have offered and he watches with apprehension as Potter approaches the door. Draco clears his throat and clasps his hands together behind him, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Luna!" Potter leans forward and hugs a young blond woman with a slightly vacant expression. Draco barely recognizes her. His mind's eye remembers jewelry made of vegetables and ill-fitted jumpers and denim. Instead she is nearly polished. Pretty as well. Though with Zabini involved that's hardly a surprise. His Italian friend was always a bit on the shallow side. As he understood it, he came by that particular feature from his mother, notorious for going through men like water.

"Hello, Harry. Lovely to see you," she replies her trademark dreamy voice.

"Good to see you again, Zabini. Thanks for coming."

Blaise accepts Harry's hand graciously and offers a sincere grin. "Thanks for the invitation, Potter. Been a long time."

Harry steps aside and invites them in. There is a similar interaction with Ginny and then Hermione. All squeals and hugs for Luna; reserved hand-shakes and polite greeting for Blaise.

Standing to the side of the room, Draco is the last they both notice. Blaise comes alive a little. "Draco Malfoy! It's great to see you, mate." He offers him a gentleman's hug, clapping him on the back.

Draco nods. His agitation over Lovegood leaves him a little reserved, but he can't help the smile that stretches his face. "Zabini. You know you could've visited. I was pretty well a homebody of sorts that last few years. Or, you know, eighty-four months I believe they called. It."

If it were anyone else it might come across as uncomfortable but Blaise Zabini revels in Draco's snarky humor and laughs. "I suppose that's true but you know me. Never one for the quiet life. I've been checking out this new world."

Luna's quiet voice interrupts and she steps to Zabini's side. "Hello, Draco. I'm so pleased to see you are well. I've heard the muggle penitentiaries are rife with aquavirius maggots."

Draco's eyes dart the room and he finds Harry grinning affectionately and Hermione watching him with, dare he hope, affectionate concern. "Err… yes. Thank you. I'm uh… very glad to be out."

Luna glances behind her and points to the copper mug in Ginny's hand. "Ooh Moscow Mules. Did Hermione make those?"

"Pfft… of course. You know Harry and I can't mix a drink to save our lives." Ginny offers the mug in her hand to Luna and then grabs one of the remaining from the bar top. "Zabini? Can I offer you a muggle drink?"

"Muggle drinks are my favorite drinks." He winks at the red head and takes the offered mug.

Draco interacts a bit less than he might have after that. He finds himself stealing glances at Lovegood and trying hard to reconcile this pretty, interesting, well-mannered witch with his own memories of her. In his mind she is dirty and strange and huddled in the dungeons below his home. She's nothing but civil to him during dinner but Draco's guilt has never been completely tied to the forgiveness of victims. He's much more internalized than that.

After dinner, Blaise excuses himself to slip out side and Hermione nudges Draco. She whispers, "Why don't you go catch up. Harry told me he was so happy you'd be here tonight."

He looks down at her and nods, nerves still buzzing but grateful for her encouragement and her smile.

Blaise is standing outside a rear entrance to Potter's home with a muggle cigarette between his fingers when Draco finds him.

His friend offers the pack and Draco shrugs before deciding to take one. He's not smoked anything of any nature since the summer he found his father's cigar box with Theo. It was right before their third year and they both ended up feeling quite sick.

"Of all the nasty muggle past times for you to pick up..."

"You could have declined."

"And make it awkward, standing here doing nothing while you smoke? Please."

Blaise chuckles at that. "Slytherin reasoning but it seems the Gryffindor is rubbing off on you. That was dangerously forth-coming to admit."

"Must you align everything to House behavior?."

Blaise shrugs with a casual grin. "So how is it, really? Living with Granger. She bust your bullocks on a daily basis?"

"Well..." he ponders for a moment before answering. "She can't cook. Pawned that off on me on day two. And she leaves her socks inside her shoes in the foyer like a peasant. She insists on singing, terribly off-key, in the shower while I'm trying to sleep. She operates her vehicle like an insane person. Oh and the music... it's a wonder she can even concentrate on driving with whatever nonsense she has blaring. I doubt I'll survive too many more trips. There's always vehicular accident news in the paper..."

Blaise has been holding in a snicker and finally lets it escape. "So it's just terrible then? You sound like a married bloke complaining about his wife."

Draco glares at his friend and protests, "I sound like no such thing. I'm cohabitating a living space and it's difficult to suffer all of her personality quirks."

They are quiet a moment, each taking a drag off their cigarettes, before Blaise speaks again. "How are _you_? Outside Granger. An adjustment I'm sure, yeah?"

Draco nods, staring out into Potter's garden. "I couldn't even imagine. When I was locked up, at least I knew what to expect most every day. There was a schedule, a daily regiment, so I didn't have to think about what it was like out here. The first few days, I was fairly overwhelmed."

Another quiet falls over them and Draco is considering what he wants to say next, not sure if he wants to voice it. Blaise is a tease still, as he always was, but he is also a relatively considerate friend and Draco has some level of faith he won't use what he's about to admit against him.

"I think... maybe... I'm fortunate. Out of all the possibilities, I mean, to have ended up assigned to Granger." He thinks to elaborate but he's never been one for a heart-to-heart; never one hundred percent comfortable with his own emotions. Indicated by the way Blaise simply nods and passes no judgment, he imagines saying more isn't necessary.

"So, you and Lovegood?" Draco changes the subject before he is drawn farther into his own rabbit hole.

Blaise smiles and looks at his friend. "Who'd have thought, right? Trust me though, she can surprise you, once you know her."

"I doubt she would be interested in knowing me at all," he grouses.

"Because of what happened during the war? At the manor?"

Draco nods but has trouble looking Blaise in the eye. "You know she doesn't blame you for that. You just spoke to her in there. Did she strike you as a girl holding a grudge?"

"She should. If she wasn't daft, looking for imaginary whackadoodles or whatever it is she does."

"Hey," Blaise frowns and smacks Draco's shoulder with the back of his hand. "That's my girlfriend, you git."

Draco smirks and rubs his shoulder. "You always did like them a bit quirky, Zabini."

"Quirky girls are the most fun," he offers a roguish smile, their tiff quickly forgotten. "They are surprisingly open when it comes to bedroom matters."

"Bedroom matters? What are you, ninety?"

They both laugh a little and Draco feels comfortable in a way he hasn't yet. Even with Hermione, as much as he has come to enjoy their time together. With her there is always an element of stress. Sexual tension and self-doubt and guilt all wrapped up with the delight she can bring. With Zabini it's easy. Casual.

"So Granger looks good."

It's an abrupt change and Draco scowls. "Doesn't seem like where your eyes should be straying, with Lovegood on your arm."

"That, my friend, sounded suspiciously like you might be jealous."

Draco rolls his eyes and tosses the butt of his cigarette into the grass. "Not at all. Just making an observation. Wouldn't want you in trouble with your girl."

"How do you know my girl wouldn't welcome a... visitor... into our bed?"

"What-no. You're messing with me."

"Hey, she's a free spirit, Drake. And you know I was never too tied down by convention. Who am I to judge her? I'm just thankful she lets me play too."

"You're serious."

Blaise grins and claps Draco on the back. "Don't worry I won't ask you and Granger to join. You were always too selfish to share."

With that, Blaise tosses his filter away as well and gestures back to the door. "Shall we?" He walks back inside, leaving Draco staring after him for just a moment, his mouth flopped open like a cod fish.

Ultimately, he just shakes his head fondly and follows his friend back inside.

After dinner, Hermione drives them home. She'd declined most drinks during the evening, claiming she didn't want Harry to have to drive her car home for her again. Draco doesn't particularly want to end up a tanked mess with a sober Granger, so he pulls back as well.

"Was it so bad?" She asks once they are inside. She is toeing her boots off and slips a sock inside each one. Draco bites back a grin.

"Well, I've certainly had worse evenings."

She gives him a knowing grin and says, "I'll take that. You did great you know."

She surprises him when she leans up and pecks his cheek in much the same way he's seen her do with Potter. By the expression on her face, she's almost as surprised as he is. "Well. Good night, Draco."

She's almost out of the room when he mumbles, "Night, Hermione."

 **A/N Yet another chapter I probably didn't vet enough but hey, at least I'm updating right? I've had quite a few faves and follows added since I got back on a semi decent update path which is more encouraging than I can say so thank you a thousand times. I've tried to respond to each review as well but an extra shout-out for those because reviews are love and who doesn't need a little love?**

 **I'm about to post another WIP as well. Maybe tonight or tomorrow. It's been sitting on my laptop 1/2 done for months so I have a nice cache of pre-written chapters and a pretty solid end game. Hope to see reviews as always and would love if you joined me on the other story as well!**


	14. Chapter 14

The first two weeks of classes leaves Draco feeling very positive about the world in general. After their "date" celebrating his first day, and the follow up night with the Potters and Zabini, his evenings with Hermione have taken on a slightly more intimate atmosphere. He still makes dinner and she still cleans afterwards, but now he finds that she spends time during the cooking process either sitting at the small table in the kitchen or offering to help in small ways. They converse casually all the while, usually about their respective days: His about classes and the adventure that is muggle public travel while she regales him with stories about her department, her coworkers, and keeping him up-to-date on wizarding-muggle relations.

After dinner, he takes up the role of companion while she takes the lead on the task at hand. He sits and drinks a cup of coffee while she cleans, or he puts things away to free up hands for her.

Once that daily chore is complete, they retire to her living room and curl up on the sofa. They watch in silence during more engrossing programs and banter during the more light-hearted. Small touches start to come into play. She bats at him for being cheeky, he pokes at her to tease. Once, when he's feeling particularly bold, he pinches her thigh when her sarcasm is especially biting. She laughs and swats him away while he tries to hide the self-satisfied smirk.

Beyond his blossoming… friendship? Relationship? … with Hermione, he sees other encouraging signs from the world. On Monday night, when they had nestled down to watch something after dinner, he had stumbled across an apparent BBC documentary about the wizarding war that had outed his people to the rest of the planet. The program portrayed Tom Riddle as a power-mad sociopath with naive military planning but a charismatic personality. He was compared to muggle dictators from history, most notably a European with poor facial hair choices and an angry demeanor.

Within that particular coverage, there was a large portion dedicated to Severus Snape, touting the man as one of the most tragic heroes in human history. His taciturn godfather was painted in an incredibly favorable light and he was gratified to see Hermione sneak a tear away from her lashes when she thought he wasn't looking.

Unfortunately, the high on which Draco had been riding doesn't last in the next week.

"This is ridiculous. We've hardly done anything practical! Is this how muggles learn to do things because if it is I'm going to go back to my previous opinion that muggles are vastly inferior and now I have proof!"

Hermione rolls her eyes a little, walking into her flat following an irate Draco. He's been ranting since she picked him up from class. It's Thursday of his third week and his mood has become quite foul the past few days. "You're not learning practical application because you're in the _advanced_ class, Draco. Everyone in your group knows how to do the spells. What you need to learn is regulation."

"What about ' _theory_ '?" He sneers the word with sarcasm and throws up air quotes, an annoying muggle habit he seems to have picked up at his classes. "There is no reason what so ever to study energy or flow or whatever other rubbish they're hounding us with."

"I think that's very exciting actually."

He gapes at her and tosses his jacket on the sofa. "Why in seven hells would you find that exciting?"

Hermione walks around him to pick up the jacket and hang it absentmindedly as she answers. She doesn't even realize they've started doing frivolous domestic things for one another in the past weeks. "There is a push from many muggles to study magic as a branch in the scientific community. The stigma was hard to shake for some people. It's hard to reconcile science and magic in your head if you think of magic as just fantasy, but now that we know it's real? There are a lot of leading researches that believe we can tie magic to other scientific principles. Mostly at the molecular level or even as a type of energy not yet discovered."

She straightens his jacket on the hanger next to her own and closes the wardrobe door with a flourish. "How can that _not_ be exciting?" She grins broadly at him then cants her head in thought. "Though, why they are teaching it in a licensing class I'm not sure. Seems like there should be a magical philosophy course or something..."

A quiet settles between them where she continues to stare past him, chewing her lip. Draco feels his ire diminish and is replaced, at least in part, by a fond bemusement of her.

Until he remembers what riled him up so much in the first place. He waves away her previous point and redirects to his own personal annoyance. "Perhaps if they spent less time on theory, that you've admitted is completely out of place and inappropriate, it wouldn't take so fucking long to get my license. I _need_ my magic back, Granger. You can't..." he takes a calming breath and looks at her earnestly. "You can't know what it's like. Like there's this part of me, as real as an arm or my eyes or… anything, but I can't use it. Like I'm tied up and blindfolded and held down and I'm just fucking helpless."

She nods and starts, "I underst- no." She stops herself and redirects. "You know what, I won't condescend like that. I _don't_ understand. But I'm sorry and I'm trying to help you through this as best as I can."

Suddenly the expression on her face changes a bit into a grimace and Draco waits, assuming she has more to add. Unfortunately, Hermione takes his silence as a rejection of the notion she is doing everything in her power. Further, that exacerbates the sudden guilt when she realizes there is something she could probably do. A way to alleviate his suffering that he describes as such a visceral and almost physical pain.

"I um... I do have some news." She glances up and meets his eyes, finding him waiting for her to continue. "A magical family has petitioned to house you."

Draco squints his eyes in confusion, wrinkling his nose in thought. "Who?"

"The Greengrass family."

"Daphne?" he questions with a bit of surprise.

"Her parents, yes. It seems that they have a motion filed and it is in the review stages now."

"Why would they do that? Galleons? Do you think they want to get their hands on what's left of my inheritance?" He's a bit nervous at the thought, though his relationship with the Greengrass family had always been cordial, Hermione has mentioned how many families have struggled. Could they seek to use him for their own comfort?

"In a way..." she hedges. Finally she sighs and says, "I think they might have designs on you as a match for their daughter."

Draco wrinkles his nose a little, "They want me to marry Daphne? That vapid little tart?"

"No she's already married Marcus Flint. Many of the pureblood families sought to merge quickly after the war, trying in vain to retain their purity status."

"That seems... short sighted," he says carefully, "given the state of things."

Hermione shrugs and circles around the sofa to sit next to him. "Old prejudice dies a slow death."

They both sit, thinking quietly for a moment. "So Astoria then? They want me to hitch myself to her?" He adds with a self-deprecating snort, "I'm surprised they'd deign to associate with me on that front. The Greengrasses were notoriously neutral during both wars."

Hermione shrugs. "Yes well be that as it may, there are very few eligible purebloods left in wizarding Britain. Even after everything, you're still a Malfoy. I'm sure that carries weight in pureblood circles. Probably a lot of weight. If they really want a match, old associations might not be top priority."

"Sure, I suppose. But why would they think I'd be interested in marrying her? I just got my freedom back. I'm in no hurry to shackle myself to another prison, even a pretty blond one. I certainly don't need her dowry, even if they maintained their wealth. What could they offer for a traditional suit?"

She doesn't answer immediately and Draco isn't sure why she seems so hesitant. "There are... other benefits to marrying. _They_ gain a pureblood with a sizable vault, where as _you_ have a spouse with, presumably, a number of magic use certificates."

" _You_ have magic use," he says a little petulantly. "If I want someone to Mother me and cast warming charms on my coffee, what do I care who does it?"

"It's... when a witch or wizard is married to another, their certificates of magic use, with some stipulations and restrictions, are joint."

It takes him a moment to process but then shakes his head as if to clear any confusion. "Wait wait..." he gapes at her a little disbelieving. _Just like that? That_ simple? "You mean if I marry a witch I get my magic back... immediately?"

"With some restrictions but... essentially yes."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?!"

Hermione looks a little taken a back and he sees her body tense. "I didn't realize you were so anxious to tie yourself down."

"Well this certainly changes my perspective on the prospect. Why isn't everyone married? Merlin, why aren't you for that matter?"

The look she gives him could only be described as hurt but he's not entirely sure why. He didn't mean to imply there was anything wrong with her that made her incapable of finding a partner. If anything with this revelation he's surprised she's been able to beat off the wizards with a stick. He's lucky she's even still single for him to attempt to pursue…

Finally, she straightens herself and says in a way he would call pointed, "I don't need a _husband_ to have magic."

It's like a verbal slap. _Of course. But the_ Death Eater _does_.

"No I guess you don't. Lucky for you then." His tone is sarcastic and he doesn't care. How dare she, after the progress they've made, judge him in this way? How dare she throw his struggle that he only just voiced, with quite a bit of vulnerability, back in his face?

"Well then, I'll just let you know how the petition progresses, shall I?" She says it so calmly it stuns him into silence and when she walks out of the room he doesn't even consider stopping her.

 **A/N Hello! So I started and finished my little Dreams multi-chapter and thought it was time to dig back into this and tackle the Greengrass issue. Also, for anyone who was reading Dreams that might have missed, I did start a silly little drabble series that consists of a hodgepodge of little one-shots set in that world that sort of dance around the timeline. It will be a haphazard collection of mostly at least somewhat humorous tales to fill in a few blanks or just mess around for fun.**

 **And of course anyone following this who has not read it, shameless plug for Dreams of Requirement, a 6th year AU told almost exclusively from Draco's point of view which is now complete!**

 **Reviews make me the happiest person ever! Thank you to everyone reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing this and any of my other projects!**


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione decides with all the cold logic and analytical thinking at her employ that she has allowed herself to grow a little too cozy with her enforced roommate and takes a mental step back.

It has been a few days since letting him know about the Greengrass petition and no progress has been made on the motion itself. Draco hasn't made any inquiries (in fact he's said very little at all) and Hermione finds herself afraid to mention it. He had been so angry at her for keeping him in the dark about the marriage regulations, not to mention eager to jump on the opportunity, she is afraid bringing it up might just start another row.

Mostly Hermione has avoided the subject because she's not sure she can keep her hurt in check if they have another go 'round on the topic.

She supposes it must have been more imagined than she thought, their blossoming companionship. To her it had felt like an important and deepening connection. That perhaps even beyond his time of forced supervision, they might forge a lasting friendship.

Maybe even more than a friendship.

More than anything, Hermione is angry at herself and a little embarrassed. Draco Malfoy had proven himself to be charming and considerate when he so desires. He is intelligent and clever and bursting with a dry wit. And of course, he is, admittedly, devilishly handsome. Not the tall dark square-jawed classic handsome so many women crave, but slender and sleek with hair and eyes kissed with winter pale. His aristocratic air, which she used to think of as haughty and snobbish, she has re-categorized in her mind as regal and poised. It seems only natural she would find herself attracted to him. Her folly was expecting him to reciprocate.

Before their peaceful cohabitation had cooled into its current state, their celebratory dinner had nearly given her the courage to brooch the subject of their continued relationship. Now she is doing everything she can to give him distance and let him make his own way.

Which is, she chides herself, what her job was supposed to be in the first place.

And then, she thinks, why not Astoria? Hermione has seen the girl. A pretty thing, barely a woman of age, blond and trim and well-bred. It is no great surprise he should entertain the notion. The regulations of the muggle/wizarding world simply give him a logistic reason to move quickly on a courtship. Draco is no stranger to arranged marriages after all. There is a rumour around her department that the Greengrass family might have been in talks with Lucius Malfoy prior to the second Wizarding War. Subsequently, it fell through due to the Malfoy's unwavering allegiance to Voldemort and the elder Greengrass' desire to stay out of the upheaval on either side.

So for the past few days, Hermione has been polite and pleasant and helpful but, to protect her own heart and pride, their television evenings and frequent excursions have come to an end. Hermione simply stopped inviting and, since she usually made any plans: That, as they say, was that.

If Draco misses her in a more friendly capacity, he's made no indication. She can only draw the conclusion that he has not. Missed her that is.

"What would you like for dinner?" It's Friday night and not even two weeks ago, Hermione would have made some plans for the pair. A film to watch together. A restaurant to visit. Something as simple as a shopping excursion to fill their pantry. Instead, they arrived home at the same time and separated immediately: She to her small office and he to his bedroom, door closed and presumably locked. She has knocked and asked softly what he would like mostly to break the silence.

Though she is trying to keep a professional distance, the quiet is moving past professional, skipping by awkward, and landing on just plain awful.

She hears a shuffling and then the door opens. He's looking at her with that shuttered and cold countenance he has displayed for days.

"I'll make whatever you would like if we've the ingredients." His voice is not friendly, which comes as no surprise, but now there is an edge bordering on anger mixed into the low melody of his voice.

Hermione bites her lip and takes a breath. "I can help if you want. I've done the shopping so we're pretty well stocked."

"I cook, you clean. That's the arrangement. I'll find something." With that he brushes past her and starts down the hall toward her kitchen. She watches him stride quickly away and sighs in frustration and disappointment. She should have told him sooner, about the proposal. Not to mention the laws. She had no idea how angry he would be. Of course she can't blame him. It has to do with the course of his life after all. She had no right to keep him in the dark. He may be under supervision, may not be fully released to live independently, but she's not exactly his keeper either.

After a week of hurt and guilt, the simmering combination comes out not at all how she intends and she snaps, "Merlin, Draco, what is your problem!"

He was just about to disappear from sight and she sees him halt. His turn is slow and purposeful and then he's back in the center of the hall looking at her with his eyebrow cocked.

"Whatever do you mean, Granger? Have I overstepped some rule I don't know about?"

Ouch...That stung. Such a subtle dig. "You know very well what I mean. You've hardly spoken to me for days!"

"I'm speaking now, quite plainly. If you have a question or complaint, I invite you, please, to voice it."

Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose, letting his sarcasm roll off her, building the wall around herself and her bruised ego. He's her ward. He is her responsibility. Not her lover. Not even her friend obviously. There was no understanding between them that should have led her to believe his marrying Astoria would be anything other than expected.

"I just thought." She takes a breath and starts again. "I know you're probably expecting to be moved to the Greengrass estate but these processes can take a long time. Weeks. I had been trying to be hospitable and thought maybe we could continue on as before. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner about the possibility. I just didn't want you to get your hopes up."

That's a lie. Even as she says it she knows it is. She couldn't have cared less if he had his hopes up before. The truth is she was hoping it would be denied outright and she could just ignore it.

It occurs to her that supporting it could have moved it along faster but when it was brought to her, she selfishly entered in her report that she felt he was better served to stay with her. Godric help her if he ever finds _that_ out.

He eyes her a moment and then turns back to walk into the kitchen. He mutters, "don't concern yourself with my hopes," and then is out of sight.

She should let it drop, she knows. But Hermione Granger is a Gryffindor for a reason. Smart enough for Ravenclaw, loyal enough for Hufflpuff, crafty enough for Slytherin. But no, the sorting hat had the right of it. She is, at her very core, stubborn and oh so rash.

"What precisely is that supposed to mean," she calls after him, stomping in his wake to corner him in the small room. "I'm sorry if I was trying to consider your emotional state on the matter."

"My emotional... fuck you, Granger. You could give a knut about my emotional state. What is it? Do you get a promotion for housing me? Pay raise? Or is it just bragging rights: Who can tame the Death Eater". He sneers at her and goes to storm from the room but she is right there, blocking his way, straightening herself to glare directly into his cold gaze.

"I don't get anything out of this, Malfoy! It's my job, and I do it _well_."

"Ah there it is. Can't let Astoria take me away for fear it will reflect on your _performance_?"

"No that's not what I-"

"That's beyond despicable and you know it. How dare you put your career ahead of my future?"

"What - no I didn't... I mean that's not..." She's stumbling over her words, trying to deny it but unable to find a plausible truth. He makes her sound completely selfish and unfortunately, he's right. Not for career but just as selfish nonetheless. For her own short-sighted, personal reasons. Reasons that seem silly and misguided in the wake of his obvious distaste for her.

As she's trying to find an excuse, he slips past her and she hears the front door to her flat open and slam shut.

He's never left before. Not for anything outside his prescheduled appointments and classes at least. Part of her wants to run after him and apologize. Part of her thinks she truly should go after him for his own safety and security. And then part of her just wants to collapse in her favorite chair and pity herself for a while. When the first tear falls, she wipes it away, angry at herself for becoming so invested. The second tear slides too quickly down her cheek and is soaked up in her curls. By the third, she's starting to feel that hitch in her breathing and by tear number seven she's sitting on the kitchen floor letting the flood overcome her and trying to decipher when she started to care this much about Draco Malfoy.

Ultimately, he's only gone for about an hour. Hermione breathes a sigh of relief when he returns. She has images in her head of him coming in smelling of liquor or, even worse, a woman's perfume. Instead, he strolls in and passes by her on the sofa, heading straight for this room but she stops him with a soft, "Draco?"

He stops and waits but doesn't turn to look at her. She notices his hand clenched at his side and sighs a little. "I wanted you to know that I'm sorry. Truly. I don't want to try to control your future. I would hate to see you marry for legal reasons when I know you are so capable of being completely independent." She takes a deep breath. "But that's not my decision to make. If you want, I will go to the department head on Monday and ask her for an update on the Greengrass petition. If...well, just if that's what you want. Alright?"

She looks at him with pleading eyes that are completely lost on him since he has his back turned. Even if he leaves her care, she has enjoyed having him in her life. She's afraid her selfishness, and her obvious misunderstanding of his intentions, will remove the possibility of any friendship once he leaves her apartment.

Finally, she sees his shoulders first slump and then straighten and he says, "If that's what you think is best. Good night."

Yet again, he's gone before she can react.

 **A/N So a bit of a bridge chapter to get inside Hermione's mind a little. The relationship aspect of this story is about to come to a head in the next couple of chapters if things go as planned. I left this poor couple in a state of romantic flux for far too long. Time to get things moving :)**

 **Thank you as always for your follows, faves, and reviews!**


	16. Chapter 16

Draco has barely spoken to Hermione, short of their last fight that had him running from her flat to escape the feeling of frustration and self-doubt, in two weeks.

He had made a decision when he ran from her home last week and the results of that are sitting before him.

Draco looks across the café table at Astoria and regards her with what he assumes would appear as a cold indifference. "So how does this work?" He gestures between them. "What are my obligations?"

It's a sunny Saturday afternoon and he asked Miss Greengrass to meet with him to discuss his potential living arrangements. On the telephone she had seemed surprised the petition was going forward and agreed to this tete a tete to discuss. She had seemed oddly unsure as to why he would want a private meeting. He has no doubt her sense of self-worth is so irritatingly high that she would wonder why anyone would hesitate to snag her as a wife.

Securing her number had been the first challenge. He had stormed from Hermione's flat and simply walked briskly down the street for some time before calming his heart rate and his mind and slipping into a muggle café. Over a cup of terribly weak coffee he had rung Blaise on the number his old friend had provided and asked for his assistance.

" _Apparently the Greengrass estate has put forth a request to move me to their sponsorship."_

" _What… why?"_

 _Draco shrugs though of course Blaise doesn't see. "Granger says for a marriage contract."_

 _There is a silence on the other end before Blaise agrees, "Well that would make sense I suppose. Do you know Astoria?"_

" _Not at all. Met her I guess, at Hogwarts. Must have." He notices a muggle nearby perk up at the mention of his old school and turns his body away for some semblance of privacy. "Younger than Daphne I know."_

" _Quite a dab hand at charms. She's a prominent witch now, in social circles. Not my social circles of course," he laughs. Blaise has made it clear he has no interest in social climbing Wizarding Britain (or muggle Britain for that matter)._

 _Draco sighs. "I was hoping you might be able to get in touch with her for me. If I'm going to entertain this ridiculous notion I should probably at least meet her."_

" _Wait… you're considering it?" He can nearly taste the frown Blaise must wear._

" _I'm not going to take a diamond ring to the meeting if that's what you're asking. I just wanted to introduce myself properly. See where her head is in this. What do I have to lose?"_

" _Granger."_

 _Draco pauses before he says, "What exactly do you suppose I'm losing? Did I give you any indication I had a personal interest in her?"_

" _I… nothing. Not a thing, Mate. Let me get you her number then."_

The most obnoxious moment had occurred after the phone call ended and the nosy muggle man had asked if he could see Draco's wand. There was almost a significance that made Draco question if he was being asked in innocent curiosity or chatted up with a cheap double entendre. Annoyance quickly became embarrassment as he realized his wand wasn't even on his person. No reason to carry the worthless thing if he wasn't allowed to use it. He had gruffly but very clearly told the man to "get bent" and stalked back to Hermione's home.

Astoria quirks her eyebrow, looking over the rim of her mug, before putting it down and resting her hands in her lap primly. "Obligations? You mean… room and board? You're a man of means, Draco. I would think you would have enough pride to realize my family is not treating you as a charity case. You are a guest, yes, but you will pay for your lifestyle outside of the basics of living in their household."

He shifts and clears his throat, not looking forward to bringing up the hippogriff in the room. She has certainly not made this easy for him so far. And most definitely had not made him feel any affection toward her that would lead to courtship.

"No I mean, where you and I are concerned? Am I obligated to you in exchange for their assistance? Will a contract be negotiated?"

"What in Merlin's Beard are you talking about, Draco? Contract for what?" She sighs and pinches the bridge of nose. "Is this my Father's doing?"

"I- I mean I assumed it was shared family knowledge."

She picks up her mug angrily and chugs a drink only to gasp a little at the heat of the liquid. "That conniving… I'll kill him. This is not the Dark Ages nor the backwards Wizarding world. I do not need-"

"Astoria, please, you're making a scene." Draco looks around uncomfortably at the muggles that are staring that direction.

"Let them stare. You know what, never mind that. I'm leaving. And next time you see my father you can tell him I said he can stuff his contracts. I don't need a bloody investor!" She has stood up and slams her hands on the table.

"I've not even spoken to him directly- wait. Investor? What do you mean 'investor'?"

"Wha…what do you mean, what do I mean? Isn't that what _you_ meant? A contract to invest in my salon?"

"What the fuck… what salon?!" Now Draco is appropriately confused and a beat passes as they stare at each other. It occurs to Draco he's missing something very important about their exchange. His companion is retaking her seat and studying his face.

"So, my Father didn't ask you to invest funds in my glamour salon expansion?"

"No….." he drags out carefully. "You're not petitioning to move me to secure a marriage contract?"

She barks a rather unladylike laugh. Had she still been sipping from her coffee, he would most likely be wearing it now. "Marriage?! Oh Merlin, why would you _ever_ think that? I've a string of men lined up just to take me to dinner. Why in the world would I tie myself to a marriage contract? You think I want to marry _you_?"

He starts to interject but it seems she isn't finished rejecting him so spectacularly quite yet.

"I mean you're wealthy. And handsome of course. But, Draco, I have reputation to maintain. You were a Death Eater. You've been to _muggle prison_ -"

"Fuck, Astoria, that's enough alright? I get it. No marriage. It's not as if I was clamoring to get in your prissy knickers," he grumbles back.

"Why would you even think that? Did my Father say something?"

"No. Like I said I haven't even spoken to him. It was just what Granger assumed."

"Well that figures doesn't it?" She snorts and rolls her eyes. "Prejudiced little bitch."

"Prejudiced?"

"Sure. I mean I can understand it I guess. After the way she was treated before the war. But it's not fair, the way she thinks of purebloods. Do you know that department of hers only allocates ten percent of its resources to pureblood families? I mean strictly financially speaking that was alright for us, but we struggled to integrate socially just as much as any other magical family. Surprised she even agreed to take you in."

"Right, she mentioned she's never done this before."

"What taken in someone from our world? Then she lied."

Draco's breathing stops a moment. Of all the things he expects from Hermione Granger, he would never expect her to outright lie. His faith in her shatters even a little more.

Astoria goes on. "There was that house elf first. Made quite the stir helping to secure his freedom. It was top rate gossip for weeks. And between you and me, for all their talk of how medieval our world was muggles don't seem to mind letting house elves work for the government. Then that Brown bint… You know she's a werewolf now. That's a whole other challenge, what to do with those beasts." She wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Then there was that orphan boy who came into his magic a bit late. Thirteen years old but with all the changes after The Fall somehow the Hogwarts records missed him. First bout of accidental magic and he flipped a bed over on some boy that was terrorizing him in their foster home."

Draco is trying to recall the conversation in question. He's sure he remembers she said he was her first. Made an obvious virginity joke about it… What possible reason could she have to lie?

Back to the situation at hand, he cocks his head and asked, "So if you've no ulterior motive, why petition to move me?"

"Oh, I'm sure that was Mother's idea," she responds with a wave of her hand at the insignificance. "She has a very soft heart and she was always quite fond of you, out of all Daphne's acquaintances. I mean unless my father is going to hit you up for investment but he had stopped mentioning it for weeks. I had assumed he'd finally gave up on that…"

"So you mentioned. Do you need money, Astoria?" Draco hasn't forgotten what Granger said early on about many families struggling.

"Oh Merlin no! I really don't understand it. He's positive I can't function without a backer but my glamour salon is one of the most successful in Britain. You didn't know me well Before, but I was a natural at charms. I've even had muggle celebrities in my shop. But my father… well he's from the old world. His vision of my future was a pureblood match and one or two well-behaved boring children and my husband would be the entrepreneur while I played the silent and elegant wife. Father has struggled a bit, with me going my own way. I thought maybe he was trying to secure you to invest, thinking I'd allow it from an old school mate."

She considers him for a moment and then asks, "Would you rather they dropped the request? I mean, you asked me here for a reason. You didn't come across as thrilled at the marriage notion. Would you rather stay with Granger?"

"No. I mean it doesn't matter." He's stumbling a bit unsure how to answer. At one point he would have begged her to drop the petition, thinking there was something with Hermione worth holding onto. Now he just feels foolish and like it would be best for everyone he moved on. But does he really want to rip up his life to move to the Greengrass estate? There doesn't seem to be much of an advantage there. Aside from not having to torture himself with Granger's indifference of course.

"I'm settled I suppose but I don't really have a particular reason to stay. If the department thinks I'd do better moved, then I'll move. If they disagree, I'll stay."

"You're awfully flippant considering it's your life for months to come."

Draco shrugs and offers a self-deprecating grin. "Beats a prison cell."

Astoria laughs and then takes a long pull from her mug, finishing it off. "Well then, I guess that's settled. I'll either see you around our estate or not." She rises and offers her hand. He takes it as if to kiss it, as he was brought up to do, but she turns it and offers a firm shake. The muggle world seems to agree with her. "It was nice to see you, Draco. If you need anything, even if you don't end up moved to my family, I hope you know you can contact me. Witches and wizards, we need to stick together."

He nods and thanks her then falls back into the chair. Rubbing his face with his hand he ponders the question he didn't know how to answer when she asked. Does he want to stay with Hermione? Not the way they've been of course but, what if they could at least go back to how they were. He may only be a job to her but he still enjoyed her while it lasted. Maybe it's time to have a chat.

XXXXXXX

If you ask Hermione the atmosphere in her apartment has been frosty. Since their heated conversation about the Greengrass petition, any semblance of what she thought was a blossoming friendship has completely disappeared. Draco still cooks meals and Hermione still thanks him and cleans up after. He thanks her for her obligatory compliments and is polite to a fault.

But it's still frosty.

Saturday night, a week after the last Astoria tiff, Draco walks in the door after a lunch date with the younger Greengrass to find Hermione sliding her arms into a jacket while simultaneously slipping her shoes onto her feet.

"Going out?"

"Yes. Ron's in town. He's been in the States helping the new Weasley shop get ready to open." Draco just nods at her in response. She has long accepted he's just counting down the days to get back to a proper pureblood lifestyle but he doesn't have to be so cold. She could almost tell him so but decides against it. Or maybe doesn't get the chance when the knock sounds on the door. She'll never really know.

"Oi, 'Mione, you ready?" Ron cautiously opens the door and pokes his head in. He grins his usual boyish grin when he sees her but then his eyes flash to Draco and he straightens up, opening the door in a more formal way. "Malfoy."

"Weasley." He gives a brusque nod then stalks out of the room, his bedroom door slamming behind him.

"Delightful as ever I see."

"Honestly, Ron, he's usually not like this. Or he wasn't. I don't know, he's been off. I think he's just… tired of being stuck here…" _With me_ , she finishes in her head.

"Well you know a ferret can't change its spots or whatever. Shall we?"

Hermione smiles at one of her oldest friends and takes his mock-gallantly offered arm.

 **A/N**

 **A little earlier than usual today. Which means I've only run through this once to edit so apologies for errors. But I kind of thought if I waited too late to get this moving a couple of you might hunt me down and kill me with sticks :)**

 **Thanks and love and happy dances to all of you for the new followers, faves, and of course for reviews!**

 **Opinion question: Do you care about her evening with Ron? I've thrown down a little text on it and could expand but I know when I'm reading a fic I get annoyed when my characters are off shopping with girlfriends and hanging out with their buddies when there's serious romance to go down! Opinions? Desires? Let me know how you feel about that in a review!**

 **See what I did there? Shameless trickery for reviews :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Fair Warning: I'm going to earn that "M" a little this chapter**

It's a striking study in comparison, if you ask Hermione, how she spends an evening with Ron Weasley versus Draco Malfoy.

Ron has invited her out to the same pub he always favours. The walls are covered in photographs of everything from football to American baseball to Quidditch. "International Sports" it touts as you enter from a noisy street. It's crowded here and more than a little dirty. The liquor is mid-shelf at best, the beer selection consists of four taps, and the ladies' room graffiti of phone numbers and lovers names has been the same since about 1992 if the faded song lyrics scribbled above the paper roll are any indication.

Draco wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this.

It's not that she minds the atmosphere necessarily. Nor is it a question of appreciating the refined luxuries in life as well. It's more that she has the capacity for both.

Even so, it really is a bit too loud.

When they enter, as with most occasions, they start on opposite sides of a table, tucked in a booth toward the back. However as the pub fills to capacity, ultimately one of them sneaks over to the other side and they end up cuddled close, speaking directly in each other's ears.

Their conversation starts on safe ground. Ron is excited to tell her all about his trip to the states. The new shop is already projecting to outsell most European locations and George wants to break ground on a location in three more cities by the end of next year. It really is quite an empire. Shame Fred can't see, they lament, raising their glasses to his dead brother.

Ron mentions he had a little fling while away and Hermione is thrilled to hear it. Too often they have stumbled back into bed together out of loneliness (or simply habit) and they both agreed last time, not six months ago, that it had to stop. Unfortunately, beer after beer, she watches as his resolve crumbles and, though she doesn't agree with a word he says, she's drawn in by the old-shoe comfort of Ron Weasley. He's all familiar scent and open expression and there is history here. Not all of it good, but they know they will always have love between them.

"I mean, she was fun but we just didn't connect you know? There wasn't that... whatever it is that you think 'blimey, I'll just know her for the rest of my life'. Not like _we_ had right? It's hard... makes me wonder why we never really made it work."

She smiles and shrugs, unable to voice all the ways that they just really don't mesh without hurting his feelings. She doesn't agree with him in the slightest; knows deep down inside her that they are poorly matched. But it's hard to keep breaking his heart when he's giving her that smile and piercing her with the ice of his eyes. They _were_ good together, his eyes say.

Sort of.

Sometimes.

"It's just, what if that's why it never works? Like maybe I can't get... invested when I'm still thinking about you."

He's looking at her with that boy-next-door grin and she knows he's trying to use what he thinks of as "smart words" like _invested_ to impress her.

"You know I love you, Ron," she begins carefully, "but we just don't... I don't know... _click_." She feels a little helpless and more than a little addled as the drinks start to course through her blood.

"Have you had any luck, 'Mione? I mean, any men I don't know about?" He gives her a more guarded smile and she knows it would kill him to know which blonde prat she's currently pining over.

So she shakes her head and smiles with what probably, for better or worse, looks like reassurance. "No, not as such. You know I'd tell you if there was someone. You're still my best friend."

His expressive blues search her and then he's leaning in and his lips are warm against hers and the sounds in the muggle bar are muffled by that rush of blood through her veins. There is a relief mixed with attraction and fondness. But also, there is a panic and a sense of wrong. It's ridiculous anyway, she chides herself. Here she is with this adorably handsome man who genuinely cares for her and is begging for whatever she's willing to give. He has been her lover and her friend and her rock on more occasions than she can name. Why should this feel wrong? It's not like anyone is at home waiting for her…

His lips move against hers and then his arms are wrapped around her and his hand is clinging to her mane of hair behind her neck. Eyes closed, she starts to get a little lost in her head. He's affectionate and welcoming and there is want somewhere down deep. Want of being held and loved and worshipped and touched.

A low moan rumbles from him, vibrating through her, and she's rattled by how disappointed she suddenly is. Behind her closed lids there is platinum hair and a wicked grin; a picture forming of the man whose touch she craves and it's not the one currently enjoying the privilege. It's not fair to any of them to let this continue.

His tongue is probing her mouth and his hands searching her blouse when she pulls away, pushing his chest lightly with her hands and shaking her head softly. Her curls are bouncing around her cheeks and she keeps her eyes squeezed shut, unable to meet his gaze.

When she looks up she sees what she was anticipating: Hurt on her friends face. Hurt and confusion. "Ron, I can't," she says simply.

"Why the hell not? I thought you were single?"

That's the Ron she knows. Brash and temperamental and accusing...which is just one of many reasons why they _don't_ _work_. It immediately makes her feel defensive. "We can't keep doing this. We agreed."

He sits back away from her, his back bouncing hard against the booth as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Well _you_ agreed and I didn't have much say in it, did I? I don't get it, 'Mione. You always say the same shite. We're "friends" and you "love me" and it's _so nice_ being together and then as soon as we get close you pull... this." He gestures vaguely toward her before running his hand through his hair and then taking a long pull from his beer.

"That's not fair. You know as well as I do we never work. You're no happier with me than I am with you."

"Sorry I make you so miserable," he says petulantly.

Hermione sighs and takes his hand. "You know you don't, stop digging for compliments."

He removes his hand from hers to take another drink and, though she can see he's pouting, he seems to already be calming considerably. Fast to anger and fast to forgive. That's her Ron.

"So tell me all the gossip I've missed then. Harry says Malfoy's afraid of your driving. Prefers the muggle bus. Smart move on his part if you ask me."

She signals the bartender to bring them another round and settles in to regale her ex-boyfriend with stories about her current unrequited love interest. Unbeknownst to him of course.

He will make two more attempts for a kiss before the night is over and a very drunk Hermione will make excuses of being exhausted so she can break away, annoyed and yearning for the wrong man.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

It is after two in the morning when Draco hears the door open and watches a stumbling Granger fall through the opening. Her lipstick is completely gone and her face is flushed. The top button of her shirt is no longer done. He purses his lips and rises. He's waited up for hours, agonizing over the conversation he wanted to have earlier in the day, and is not pleased that this is the result. He was even worried for her when she was gone so long. Not to mention, he has been feeling wretched for the dark tone that has settled between them all week. He was ready to apologize. To try to talk it out. After his conversation with Astoria at lunch, he thought maybe he might want to stay. To show her he's worth giving a chance outside of their professional relationship. Now he just sees why it probably never meant anything to her anyway.

As he passes by, she seems startled by his presence and he sneers, "I guess you and Weasel are back together then," and continues on his way.

He doesn't quite reach the hall when she spits back, "Of course not. Christ, what a dreadful thought."

Curiosity stops him and he looks her over, his eyes taking her in with something like condescension. "Certainly appears to be the case. If your disheveled state is anything to go by."

He watches her look down at herself and sway a bit. "He got a little handsy. Old habits."

Draco snorts. "Old habit that repeats whenever he comes crawling back I'd wager."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing that it doesn't sound like."

"That's bollocks. You don't get to make me feel like a whore over his attempts to reconnect."

"Don't project your issues on me. I never called you anything of the kind. I just think it's pathetic you keep going back to the same prat you just said you had no intention of being with. What, you can't get a date with anyone else?" He sneers at her and goes to leave again but now she is truly riled.

"I can get a bloody date, you insufferable prat! I go out and meet people and occasionally even get laid but I don't just want to _date_! I want a goddamn relationship. I want someone who's mine and I'm his but no one is asking so I settle for… fuck… _familiar_!"

She positively screeching at him and he's never quite seen her like this. Even after cocktails at Potter's. This is a whole new level of intoxicated. He goes for the obvious. "You're drunk."

She roars at him, throwing her jacket on the ground at her feet. "Of COURSE I'm drunk! You think I go about snogging my exes when I'm _sober_?! Jesus, I probably undid months of being aloof so he doesn't start getting hopeful again but fuck, Draco, you've fucked me up. Fucked up _everything_! I LIKE being alone. Or I _did_. Then you show up and I get all… accustomed to you and then you'll be gone and it's your fault everything keeps changing and... I don't _like_ change, Draco! I can't control it and I DON'T LIKE IT!" She's panting now and Draco just stares with saucer eyes.

"I'm going to bed," she hollers with finality and stomps down the hall, slamming herself into her room.

Draco waits maybe a beat and then storms down after her. He flings her door open and finds her hopping awkwardly trying to pull off her left boot.

"We're not finished, Hermione."

"I don't have anything else to say. I'm tired and I'm drunk and I smell like that cheap wizard cologne Ron _bathes_ in because I don't know why. He must think the sounds of a woman choking are just incredibly appealing."

She is mumbling and continuing to hop until she finally ends up perched on the end of the bed and pulls the boot so hard it flies into her nightstand. Draco snickers.

"Fuck you, these boots are tight."

He starts across the room and picks up the offending footwear, righting it to stand neatly by the wall. "Would you like help with the other?"

"I'm perfectly capable… ugh," she tugs on the other boot with little effect. "…of taking off my own… ugh…bloody boots, thank you very much."

"Maybe unzip them."

"They _are_ unzi—oh."

Some of the fire is going out of her temper but she seems to muster what little is left for one last dig. "I'm sure your new wife will be happy to let you undress her top to bottom. No doubt that pureblooded princess will need the assistance with complicated things like _zippers_.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know, that empty-headed blonde brood mare you're going to marry."

"What the hell… Astoria? I'm not even interested in marrying her."

"Then why are you going to live with her!?"

"Because you don't want me here!"

Hermione, who seemed primed, anticipating something and ready with a retort, seems to stop suddenly and looks at him with an odd expression.

"That's not true." Her voice is softer than before.

"Isn't it?" he hisses back, his own ire reignited.

Hermione drops her chin and regards Draco with a cautious interest. "No. No, Draco, it's not. I never said such a thing. Merlin, Draco, is that why you've been such a prick?"

He folds his arms over his chest and glares at her. "I've been perfectly civil."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione flops down on her bed and sighs in apparent exasperation. "Well you haven't called me a mudblood or tried to hex me but you've been barely less than hostile."

"I haven't called you such a thing since we were children. Regardless, I don't care for being in a position to feel like a burden." He looks away, unable or unwilling to keep her gaze.

Hermione furrows her brow and chews her bottom lip, perhaps reviewing the last few weeks in her head. No small task, he imagines, since her head is fuzzy with drink. "Is this about Pansy?" she slurs out carefully. "She's the one who said 'burden' not me."

"Yes because that would be terribly _unprofessional_ of you." His tone is condescending and Hermione's drunken semblance of patience is wearing onion-skin thin.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, you stop snarking at me this instance. Now sit down and stop pacing." Her foggy head seems to be starting to clear, adrenaline washing away some of the copious amounts of rum she consumed during the evening.

Draco is mildly surprised, but no more than she when he actually listens, flopping down especially hard on the other end of her side of the bed.

"Careful, you'll owe me a mattress," she chides but with a little cheek in her tone. Draco for his part is not anywhere near ready to engage in banter and pointedly won't meet her eyes. He hears her sigh before she says, "Draco, I apologize if I've said something to make you think I'm inconvenienced by you in any way."

"Don't talk down to me in that swotty voice you reserve for lecturing." He still refuses to look at her and an indifferent mask has clouded his facial features. He's been told this can be quite irritating and hopes to Salazar that it is.

From the corner of his eye, he sees her fist clinch.

"Fine. How about this then: Stop being a fucking arse. I've been incredibly nice to you and not just because I'm supposed to be. I don't have to watch films with you and take you to my favorite restaurants and hang out with your harpy ex-girlfriend and watch you drool all over the muggle tart at the uni!" She snaps her mouth closed, seeming to want to cut off any further outburst.

Draco is, if not chastised, at least puzzled. Still locked up in his emotionless, protective state, he asks carefully, "then why do you?"

"Because I like it. I mean, not the 'muggle tart' bit but the other things. I've…it's nice to have someone who likes to do things I like. Even if it's just staying in on a Saturday to watch a film and order take-away."

"So, you..." he pauses a moment and blinks his eyes closed, steeling himself with whatever passes for bravery for a self-doubting Slytherin. "I don't want to live with the Greengrasses."

"I- you don't?"

He opens his eyes and looks at her finally. "I was rather just getting comfortable here." His pride screams at him not to admit the rest but he says anyway, "She didn't want to marry me you know. Astoria. Didn't even know her parents had petitioned."

Hermione tucks a curl behind her ear. "I was growing rather used to having you here too." She looks away with a slight blush on her cheeks and Draco wonders if she is embarrassed to admit having been unprofessionally friendly with her charge. He can't find himself to care, just happy to see her warmth slowly returning to her voice.

Then he remembers her tirade in the living room, screaming how he was going to leave and this tiny flame ignites somewhere inside his cold center. Suddenly he wishes very much she were not drunk, or that he was drunk as well so they'd be on even ground. If he could Accio a bottle of whiskey he would be doing so.

"Do you have any Sober Up?"

"Hmmm? Oh, um. I don't know, maybe…" She seems distracted and thoughtful and he wonders if she realizes what he is just now hoping she meant.

Rising from her bed, he walks into her adjoining bathroom and starts searching cabinets. He finds the potion in question, garishly packaged in a purple bottle with a cartoon duck giving a "thumbs up" to the viewer. He sneers at it in disgust, _fucking muggle marketing_ , but takes it back to the witch sitting on the bed, her head bowed like she's either in very deep thought or about to pass out.

He nudges her shoulder with the bottle. "Take it."

She looks up in question then studies the bottle like she's not sure what it is. He hadn't thought she was too inebriated to read…

"Come on, take it. You give me too much credit if you think I poisoned it in that amount of time."

"Don't be ridiculous." She takes it from him but hesitates a bit longer before admitting. "I'm not sure I'm looking forward to being sober just yet."

Yes, he supposes it could be a might awkward…

She downs in like she's taking a shot of muggle liquor and shudders at what he knows to be the horrid taste. "Better?"

A long pause before she looks up and says, "sort of."

"What do you mean 'sort of'?"

"Well now it's just terribly uncomfortable." There is a slight pout in her voice. Draco thinks it's a little endearing.

He snorts and comments, "No more uncomfortable than living with you the last two weeks."

Hermione gives him a wide eyed look, _dripping_ with incredulity. "And whose fault is _that_?"

"Yours obviously. Don't give me that look, you've been strange ever since the Greengrass thing came up."

"No… I've been strange since you screamed at me for sitting on it for a bit. It's not as if my not telling you changed the pending outcome."

She's looking away from him again and her face has settled on an expression of annoyance. "How long did you know about it?"

"Oh come on, Draco, why does it matter? I apologized alright? Either you forgive me for that or you can just show yourself out of my bedroom."

It hadn't really occurred to him they were having this conversation in her private space. Her bedchamber. On her bed. Where she sleeps.

Nude.

No use getting distracted. That assumption of their familiarity is what landed him here in this position in the first place.

"I'm not angry you didn't tell me."

"I… oh. Wait, then what are you angry about?"

Draco thinks back on their argument. Why was he angry? He supposes he was just disappointed that she seemed so flippant about his removal. Is that really where all of this started? Seems a bit petty now, blaming her and being purposefully cruel just because she wasn't some lovestruck fool, pining at the possibility of his departure.

"I guess I was just surprised how easy… it makes sense though I guess. I mean I'm sure giving up your home constantly to wayward wizards is a bit of a burden."

"I wish you'd stop saying that. Burden. I've never said that."

Something occurs to Draco and his curiosity is too great to not follow the mental distraction. "Why did you lie about that? Taking other wizards and witches in?"

She looks at him in confusion and replies, "I've never lied to you Draco. I understand you might have issues trusting me, hiding the petition, but I've not _lied_."

"Astoria, she has no reason to be dishonest. She says you've taken in others before but you said I was the first. She was surprised you agreed to take me actually, being a pureblood. Said you're a bit prejudiced against us." There is a little challenge in his voice. He'd nearly forgotten that but now that it's on his mind, he's feeling a little misplaced betrayal at Granger. She's probably within her rights to be wary of purebloods but that doesn't make him feel good about it.

Her confusion transforms into a glare. "I am _not_ prejudiced. I assist purebloods when they need it but most of the oldest families are terribly wealthy and very insular. They don't have much use for me."

"Yes they do," he argues, disbelieving she could be so naive. "Probably more than anyone. Not with housing or food but they're the most ignorant, the most lost-at-sea with muggles."

"Well pardon me but our resources are limited. I thought maybe it was more important for families not to starve to death instead of holding Astoria's hand while she learned to use her fucking toaster."

There it is. That haughty, stubborn Gryffindor he's known since they were children. "Sounds like Astoria's right," he accuses. He'd almost be amused, being right while she is so wrong, but it's too serious a topic for mirth. "You've not really forgiven us have you?"

"Forgiven?..."

"For Hogwarts. For the war. Merlin, no wonder you want me out of your house. Probably why you lied about it. Easier to shuffle me out if I thought I was a special exception in the first place."

"Oh for the last time I didn't lie." Exasperation has crept into her tone now. "I said you were the first Death Eater and you _are_." Gods he hates it when she calls him that, sums him up by the mark on his arm. "I didn't think I needed to give an account of all the witches and wizards who have ever spent time as my guest. Shall I write a list?" She asks sarcastically, her hostility frothing back up. "There was Harry, and then Ron of course, and Ginny stayed a weekend, and Seamus, and then Minerva came for tea-"

"Oh stop it," he hisses, all bemusement gone. He stands and is across the room, glaring at her before she can respond. "You're being obtuse and it's unbecoming. Just admit you wanted me gone and I'll make it really easy on you. I can have a bag packed and be out the door in about two minutes. Just give me a head start before you call muggle authorities or some traitor wizards to hunt me like a fox for sport."

Now Hermione has risen and she's advancing on him, her finger pointed and then she's poking his chest and screaming at him. "How fucking dare you! I've been nothing but good to you!" This isn't the incoherent ramblings of a drunken witch either. Hermione is dead sober now and she's a little terrifying if he's honest, her hair crackling with magical energy and her gaze sharp like a knife, digging into his skull.

"I've helped you get your wand, from Ollivander no less," she throws in as an aside, "and you're lucky he would even see you, signed you up at the university, opened my home to you, taken you to meet my _parents..._ my _friends_ … invited you into my fucking LIFE! I didn't do enough? Didn't bleed enough for you? Wasn't what? Pretty enough? _Pure_ enough to be Draco Malfoy's friend-"

"You think I want to be your fucking _friend_?!" he roars back. "You're a clever witch... Don't you know what I want?!"

And that's it. The last final fucking straw and Draco pushes her against the wardrobe, cradling the back of her head to protect her from the impact, and crashes his lips against hers. Together they are ships on rough seas and flint rocks and consuming fire.

She's divine.

He couldn't give a knut that she tastes like a mixture of muggle rum and that awful Sober Up. All he knows is her lips are lush and warm and it is a rough kiss, all clashing teeth and biting lips and suckling tongues.

He's vaguely aware when she starts tearing at the buttons on his shirt and then her warm hands are touching his skin and he's sneaking his own fingers up the back of her shirt and fiddling with the clasp of her bra.

He releases her mouth in favor of her neck and suckles the skin. Hermione is running her hands into his hair and gripping tight enough to deliciously sting, from the roots all the way to his toes.

"I don't want you to leave," she gasps out desperate, like it was hard to breathe through the truth of it.

He follows the column of her throat to her jaw and then reclaims her mouth. Somewhere between thrusting his tongue between her teeth and brushing his nose against the tip of hers he assures in turn, "I want to stay. I want to stay with you."

Hermione whimpers and guides him back with a gentle push until he feels the backs of his legs hit her mattress and then he topples over, dragging her with him. He rolls them until he is settled over her, looking down into her face. "I want to stay. I never wanted to leave."

Her hand reaches to cup his face then run gently down to his jaw. "I was afraid to tell you. Afraid you'd want to go." She looks away and drops her hand, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she loses the nerve to meet his eyes. "She's pretty. I… I met her. Astoria. This isn't... Is this just because she wasn't… because she didn't…"

Draco is a little hurt and almost gives in to that petty feeling of offense that she'd think so little of him. Of his feelings for her. "Am I with you because she didn't want to court me?"

She nods a little, still not looking at him, but he does feel her other hand tracing idling against his back. There is something familiar and sweet about that gesture and he recognizes this for what it is: Self-doubt. Nerves. Hermione is not implying anything shameful about him, only voicing a lack of faith in her own appeal.

Once upon a time, Draco was a charming, self-assured, well-bred young man and tonight, he will choose to play the hero not the villain in the story of his own life.

"My feelings for you began long before you ever uttered her name, Hermione. Brightest witch…," he muses, "I don't know how you missed it."

She turns her head and he's smirking when she looks back at him. Whether she would have been offended by his expression he doesn't give her time to decide when he simply covers her mouth with his own again and slowly settles himself snuggly against her.

What starts as a sweet kiss, full of convincing and gentle urging, evolves into an expression of Draco's suppressed need. Years without, not just sex, but affection, human contact. Within short minutes he's vibrating with want and then he's fumbling with the button on her jeans and he could nearly sob at the intensity of his desire. He wants her completely and he tries to convey with his kiss how much he needs her. He's only been living here a matter of weeks but he feels like he's been denying himself her touch for lifetimes. Watching her and longing and being washed over with this fondness, this affection, like he could drown within her if she'd deign to allow it. Before he knows it, he's shoving at her jeans, pushing them down and cupping her arse.

"Fuck, I think I'm in love with you," he mumbles against her. Frantic. Realizing.

She whimpers again and he feels her body melt but her grip tighten. She doesn't say it back, but that's alright. She didn't push him away either. Maybe she thinks it's too soon. Maybe she thinks he's just acting on some other misplaced emotion. Gratitude or loneliness or, hell, just a lack of getting shagged for years.

Right now he doesn't care. He hadn't even realized how far he was falling until he said the words. But his affections are not dependent upon her own. He was falling for her, loving her, regardless of her permission.

Then her hand is struggling between their tight-fitted bodies to undo the button on his own trousers and any deeper thoughts completely vanish.

She manages the button and is about half successful with the zip before she orders, "take these off," preceding a particularly hard nip to his jaw.

He considers to reply with a cheeky, "yes ma'am", but thinks better of it and simply pulls himself away, enough to shimmy out of the rather fitted pants (muggles do like their trousers tight) as she pulls her blouse over her head. He settles back against her, their bare legs now twined together.

They are laying more on their sides now, and Hermione runs her foot invitingly up his calf. Her knee is nestled between the two of his and then her hand is sneaking down his stomach and playing with the band of his boxers.

Draco could scream with the anticipation of it. Years in a cell, alone and afraid, and now weeks with this beautiful witch, slowly sealing himself to her, and she's so close he could weep.

"Please, Hermione, touch me please."

When she deftly plucks at the elastic and slips her hand inside, finding him steel and straining, one choked gasp escapes him. His hand quickly reaches down, finding hers and holding her in place. She is wrapped tight around him and his length is bucking at her, begging for friction, but Draco is embarrassed to say he's not sure he can handle much more just yet.

"It's just been…I've not… fuck."

"It's ok," she assure him, dropping a sweet lingering kiss on his lower lip. A kiss with wet lips and a whisper of tongue that is full of promise and not at all chaste. "As slow as you want. Anything you want."

He rolls her onto her back and forces her hand away from his cock. He had wanted her touch so badly but now he finds denying himself is the only way to make this last. Instead he looms over her and lowers his head to her breasts to worship her as she deserves. She's all soft curves, spilling from lace that he quickly removes, then perfect pink tips and pale skin. He laps at her like a starved man.

She mewls when he touches her and he reaches lower to drag her knickers down her legs. His hand trails her thigh on the way back up and he settles his palm against her mound, one finger gently playing with her as he gauges her response to his attentions.

He gauges that she quite likes everything so far.

Kissing her again, hard, he's now two fingers into her passage and she's panting beneath him, jerking her hips and pointing her toes.

Hermione tears her mouth away from his and it's her turn to beg. "Draco, please, please… _fuck_ …"

He frowns a little even as he starts to pull his boxers off his legs. "It will be fast…"

"I don't care… _fuck_ I don't care… I'm close…"

That's plenty of assurance for him and then he's between her legs and he's never been so warm and wet and fisted tight and _fuck_ it won't take long at all. But she was being quite honest as to her own progress because within five thrusts she is screaming and shaking and almost sobbing his name and then he's following, her own name falling from his lips and his face nuzzled into her lovely slender neck.

They are both breathing hard, panting and shuddering, for a long moment before he carefully moves himself and settles down to her side. Still breathing hard but now coming down from the high and settling his head at her shoulder, planting soft kisses intermittently on the milky skin there.

"Fuck I wanted that for a long time."

She laughs a little and offers, "You've only been here a few weeks. Can't have been pining over me for ages."

Draco grins against her and concedes, "No that's true. Though I can admit now you were rather fetching back in school. Especially sixth year. I mean you were pretty before that but, fuck me, that year…? I'm not sure if these were bigger or your jumpers got tighter…" he playfully cups her right breast and gives her nipple a passing caress with his thumb.

She slaps at him but chuckles and nestles in closer, wrapping her hand around his forearm as he holds her so intimately.

"So this was rather… unprofessional of me I suppose."

He rolls his eyes but secretly his heart speeds, concerned she will announce this was a huge mistake on her part and he needs to extract himself post haste from her bed and her life. He's quiet, waiting for her to continue.

She doesn't seem aware of his inner concerns as her voice remains light and unchanged. "But I suppose there's not technically a rule against it."

He tries to settle his heart when she shifts suddenly and is up on her hand, her elbow supporting her as she looks down at him.

"It occurs to me however, I'm not sure how this might affect your petition."

"Meaning?" he tries to ask casually.

She's biting her lip again before she answers. "It might be frowned upon, you fraternizing with me, as it were. I'm not sure if the department might see fit to move you if it looks like I'm… taking advantage of my position."

Draco smirks and grabs her hips, shifting her so she is straddling him, feeling a twitch of life surprisingly quickly. "I rather like you taking advantage, Miss Granger."

She blushes and smiles down at him. "I certainly wasn't voicing a complaint… but perhaps," she hesitates, biting that luscious lip again. "Perhaps it would be best we not mention it? At least until the petition is decided or maybe get the request retracted."

He's not fond of that idea. Sounds a lot like lying, a little like a secret, and a touch like she's ashamed.

She must read something along those lines in his face when she reassures, "Just until then. I don't want them to take you from me; especially not now. Then, after that's officially over? I could give a knut what anyone thinks."

She considers briefly and cants her head. "Think Parkinson will be able to hold her tongue? You _have_ to let me be there when you tell her." His cheeky witch grins at that and he relishes in the wicked streak she's hiding under her prim and proper ways.

Draco shifts his weight to throw her off and put himself back into the dominating position over her. "Fuck Parkinson," he growls and kisses her hard, staking a claim this time. He remembers Pansy's nasty comments to Hermione and knows he won't allow a word said against her from this point on. He will protect her as his own, even if his deep feelings are not yet entirely returned.

"No thank you," she says between kisses and it takes him a moment to realize she had made a joke.

He chuckles and pretends to try another suggestion. "Fuck _me_?"

Hermione giggles and asks, "Already? I've been given to understand in past experience it takes a minute to recuperate."

Pressing himself against her, relishing in the little gasp of surprise when his length nudges against her thigh, he shakes his head. "Not with you apparently. I want you as much as you'll let me."

She smiles and runs a finger down his cheek, around the curve of his jaw, and then plays across his lips. "Merlin, you're gorgeous," she breathes.

Draco lowers himself and kisses her softly and can't help but repeat again, "I love you," fully expecting to be met with deflection. With silence.

Instead she kisses him back, harder like she has something to prove, and raises her pelvis to press against him, "Fuck, Draco, I love you too."

They don't sleep until a bright sun is shining through the windows from high in a blue sky, warming their skin as they lie twined together.

 **A/N:**

 **:)**

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